Imperfect we were meant to be, so our flaws he could see.
Each of us made unique, so the Savior we would seek.
I have scars that will never heal, imperfect the make me feel.
No one notices nor cares, that someone’s mark my face bares.
These lesions I hide well, to look you cannot tell.
It’s no birth defect-I am not blemished, with me He is not finished.