Perfect Machine

(Intro — Scream) Look at them... Perfect faces. Perfect bodies. Perfect lives. Perfect lies. Welcome to the religion of perfection. And guess who's the fucking god? (Verse 1 — Scream) They worship the mirror like it's something divine, Count every little flaw like they're counting the crimes, Perfect teeth, perfect skin, perfect fucking smile, Perfect little prison disguised as a lifestyle. They don't want a person, they want something pristine, A human-shaped product with a permanent sheen, No scars, no tears, no cracks in the frame, If you're broken inside, better hide it for fame. “Fix your face.” “Fix your body.” “Fix your life.” “Fix your flaws.” Funny how the people preaching perfection never fucking practice what they applaud. They photoshop dreams till reality dies, Put filters on faces, then filters on lives, Everybody's beautiful, everybody's fake, Everybody's terrified of one tiny mistake. (Chorus — Scream) Perfect! Perfect! That's the word that they scream, Until nobody remembers what a real person means. Perfect! Perfect! Put the mask on tight, If you can't look flawless, then stay out of sight. Welcome to the cult, where imperfection's a sin, Everybody wants the crown, nobody wants what's within. (Verse 2 — Scream) They worship celebrities like modern-day saints, Ignore every fracture underneath the paint, A perfect photograph becomes scripture overnight, And millions imitate it like they're fucking baptized. “Look at her.” “Look at him.” “Why can't I look like that?” Because you're comparing your fucking life to somebody else's goddamn highlight reel. They sell you insecurity, then sell you the cure, Make you hate yourself, then make a fortune for sure, Beauty becomes currency, youth becomes law, And the mirror becomes something you can't ignore. I see kids staring at reflections with hate, Thinking being different means they're second-rate, And the cult keeps growing, feeding on shame, Because perfection is profitable when everyone feels lame. (Bridge — Scream) You call me ugly? Good. You call me broken? Better. Because at least I know what I am. What the fuck are you? (Verse 3 — Scream) I don't want your perfect face, I don't want your perfect throne, I don't want a million strangers telling me I'm not alone. I want the scars. I want the flaws. I want the moments you delete. Because the ugliest truth is sometimes the most human thing you'll ever see. So keep your plastic heaven, keep your flawless little world, keep polishing the cage until the metal starts to curl. You built a religion out of looking complete, while dying every night from the need to compete. And I'll stand outside the temple, laughing at the door, Because the moment you become perfect... you stop being human anymore. (Outro — Scream) Perfect face. Perfect body. Perfect life. Perfect lie. Praise the perfection.