It feels like all I am, is my imagination I can find some good anywhere, with a little dedication I am what I feel, adaptable by design I triangulate my position with imaginary lines I can't profess the rules when I delight in the exceptions Headmaster of the school of my own imperfection I am, only, what I perceive This all could change with what you say to me So my apologies for making you suffer through those times When I've issued my papal decrees With imaginary lines