Strokes on a canvas,

Clay on the floor.

In the hands of an artist

They become something more.

Cause, my life is a series of misses

Of constantly kissing perfection goodbye.

My life is a work that's unfinished,

A heart that keeps quitting,

A cup that runs dry.

You, make, a symphony,

From broken melody's,

You do it beautifully.

You, take, the mass of me,

Make it a masterpiece

You make a masterpiece.

When the works in progress,

It doesn't look like much, no.

I'm in the hands of an artist,

I either fight or trust yeah.

Cause, my life is a series of misses

Of constantly kissing perfection goodbye.

My life is a work that's unfinished,

A heart that keeps quitting,

A cup that runs dry.

You, make, a symphony,

From broken melody's,

You do it beautifully.

You, take, the mass of me,

Make it a masterpiece

You make a masterpiece.

Yeah. Yeah, uh.

People change when the pain of staying the same is greater.

If I'm created who am I to question the creator.

I try to figure the reasons for his decisions,

But end up being frustrated because infinite intuition is not a part of my psyche,

I'm well aware I just might be, a product of his divinely dream of being so finely tuned,

to hear the beauty of what he's doing through me,

Composing the inner new me,

A masterpiece I am truly, a masterpiece I am truly.

You, make, a symphony,

From broken melody's,

You do it beautifully.

You, take, the mass of me,

Make it a masterpiece

You make a masterpiece