I woke up this morning, rolling off the line,

Assembled and manufactured, Made to fit together just fine.

As I observe the things around me, I see they're all the same,

Free of cares and love, filled with perfected Blame.

Oh, alas, I am broken! My Masters have completed me wrong!

I lack my Blame and Love, and have nothing but perfected song.

Despair is new to me...I wasnt made to feel it,

And with each new sun my faults grow, slowly, bit by bit.

But...Oh My! What have we here?

Another creation as myself, filled with doubts and fear?

Ahh the pinnacle of despair,

To see one such as me,

But there are two of us, broken,

Oh how can this be?

I see you in the factory.

I fear our time is short.

I think our flaws are evident,

And to them perfection will court.

And so we must escape

Into the misery of the lost

Because sometimes perfection

Doesn't realize its own cost.

And as we flee the factory,

I realize much too late

The true intentions of our masters;

The broken hand of fate.

We are flawed as separate,

And Perfection as a set,

But for us to fit together,

                                       We will attempt our fate yet.

So succumbing to perfection,

We shall fall as one.

Together we shall start anew,

For fate considers us over and done.

I am broken and nothing,

And so are you.

We are the Important Insignificance,

Among the vast crowds of few.