Head full of diamonds, pockets full of sand
Got a million dollar dreams trapped in this two-bit hand
Sketches for a symphony, a novel in my head
But the fear of every flaw leaves all the words unsaid

I see the sunrise, but it's never just right
Chasing the daylight, through every night
I'm painting a picture, but the colours don't blend
Endless revisions, where does it end? 

Oh, the perfectionist blues, what a heavy load
Chasing illusions down a winding road
Need to learn to settle, need to let it go
Perfection's just a shadow, a truth I need to know

The world isn't flawless, even God made a few
Mistakes in creation, a cosmic debut
The stars in their courses, they sometimes collide
Perfection's a myth that I've got to let slide

They say even God ain't perfect, made some stumbles on his way
Mountains and the oceans, imperfections in their display
Maybe beauty lies in flaws, the cracks that let the light shine through
Maybe "good enough" is all we ever need to pursue

Perfectionist blues, I'm gonna rewrite your song 
Break free from the loop, let my creations flow strong
No more chasin' shadows, just gotta find my peace
"Good enough" is openin' doors, a sweet release 

Diamonds in my dreams can shimmer just as bright
Even with a grain of sand, they'll catch the morning light
So goodbye perfectionist blues, I'm singin' a brand new tune
Good enough is beautiful, it's high time to bloom

Send me some token, that my hope may live,
Or that my easelesse thoughts may sleep and rest;
Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,
That in my passion I may hope the best.
I beg noe ribbond wrought with thine owne hands, 
To knit our loves in the fantastick straine
Of new-toucht youth; nor Ring to shew the stands
Of our affection, that as that's round and plaine,
So should our loves meet in simplicity;
No, nor the Coralls which thy wrist infold, 
Lac'd up together in congruity,
To shew our thoughts should rest in the same hold;
No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,
And most desir'd, because best like the best;
Nor witty Lines, which are most copious, 
Within the Writings which thou hast addrest.

Send me nor this, nor that, t'increase my store,
But swear thou thinkst I love thee, and no more.