Perfect Score Frank Turner

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