The artist oh the artist, behold perfection in his masterpiece. He opens up his mind and spreads it across canvas, an expression of who he is.

He opens up his heart and spreads it across canvas. This perfect creation, it is a part of him.

Corner to corner and detail to detail, from out of nothing, sewing together the creativity.

Each and every work he treasures, and weighs them all equally. This is the workmanship of his fingertips, and resonates his legacy. The critics will heave their detest, but he will not be dismayed.

The artist is confident in what his work is worth. His assessment will not be swayed by any mortal man. They build significance, all of their life's blueprints on top of faulty foundations. Their malice tongues are all wrapped in lies, like the way the fire encompasses the red embers.

So who is the one to name the worth of this art, can it be the breeze as it whispers by. Is it man or beast, does the art have words to speak. Nothing comes for free, what is the price to be paid, what's the worth, who’s to say its worth.

The value it cannot be earned, but the creator alone is the only one to determine what his craft is worth.

"What if I told you that you are a reflection of a king, I breathed forth galaxies but I swear that you still mean so much more to me. I purchased you with sacrifice, you are my art, you are my prized, so I purchased you with my life. I paid the highest price, but you were worth it.

Lyrics submitted by Nacil

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