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