I could use perfect timing today to feel happy again

It may be only a quartz,

It may be only a pen,

It may be only a symbol,

Before it begins again,

It may just white smoke,

It may be written in,

It may be holy water,

Or something paper thin.

I don’t know what I’m asking,

Or how to fix it at any,

I don’t know what I continue,

Even when I haven’t many,

I pick them up at six,

I put them down at 2,

I’m writing out a song,

I never knew I knew,

I ask nobody here,

To take their life in jest,

I can’t rewrite rewards,

I can’t do it in a test,

I wonder what I’m thinking,

The minds become so empty,

And yet again I’m here,

With 9 to 12 too many.

I can’t figure out how to end it,

When history repeats,

I’m calling every night,

Out of my own defeat,

I wrote perfect timing down,

I sixed it out at 10, I see it’s only back,

When holy was at Sven,

And solely in just hurting,

I pray in rhyme to us,

Little little mercies,

And timings so unjest,

401 it’s now,

I can’t end the painful orders,

I’m calling for a mercy,

To help someone build borders,

I want to just speak out,

Waste them and use hers,

Stop at twenty five,

And reline the coastal words,

And build a story I could justify,

With a little howl out,

To say it’s been 3 years,

Of perfect timing doubt,

And whose words I hear all day,

In my head or ears,

Has made me stone cold soldier,

At thirty nine real years,

Of sowing weaving contempt,

Of little things I hide,

I probably made a million,

Burn in narrows wide.

Sorry that I can’t. Do the thing I can. Do the thing I ponder, or the thing too choose, do the thing to want its perfect timing blues.