Frank Turner - Perfect Score lyrics
[Frank Turner - Perfect Score lyrics]
Tonight I’m going to make
Some predictable mistakes
But, if you haven’t got regrets
You haven’t started yet
You point your finger so much
You wore it down to the bone
It’s a wonder you can still type
That shit on your phone
Everyone’s a dupe, yeah
But somehow you’re not
Hold onto that feeling
Because you don’t know what you’ve
Got til it’s gone
I’m genuinely sorry for all the
Stupid things I’ve done
All the things I used to say
More than half of them were wrong
I’m trying to find a little forgiveness
It’s the only thing left going
Because there’s not such thing as pure
No one has a perfect score
I’m jealous of your sense
Of wounded innocence
And I’m bored of arguments
With fraudulent intent
(I know what you really meant)
History is not a package holiday
Where if something isn’t perfect then
You get to complain
The older I get the more I realise that I
Don’t know much of anything
That’s why I’m trying to hold my tongue
I’m genuinely sorry for all the
Stupid things I’ve done
All the things I used to say
More than half of them were wrong
I’m trying to find a little forgiveness
It’s the only thing left going
Because there’s not such thing as pure
No one has a perfect score
There’s a skeleton behind your door
No perfect score
Some predictable mistakes
But, if you haven’t got regrets
You haven’t started yet
You point your finger so much
You wore it down to the bone
It’s a wonder you can still type
That shit on your phone
Everyone’s a dupe, yeah
But somehow you’re not
Hold onto that feeling
Because you don’t know what you’ve
Got til it’s gone
I’m genuinely sorry for all the
Stupid things I’ve done
All the things I used to say
More than half of them were wrong
I’m trying to find a little forgiveness
It’s the only thing left going
Because there’s not such thing as pure
No one has a perfect score
I’m jealous of your sense
Of wounded innocence
And I’m bored of arguments
With fraudulent intent
(I know what you really meant)
History is not a package holiday
Where if something isn’t perfect then
You get to complain
The older I get the more I realise that I
Don’t know much of anything
That’s why I’m trying to hold my tongue
I’m genuinely sorry for all the
Stupid things I’ve done
All the things I used to say
More than half of them were wrong
I’m trying to find a little forgiveness
It’s the only thing left going
Because there’s not such thing as pure
No one has a perfect score
There’s a skeleton behind your door
No perfect score