What is it to be an architect, of such unique design?
And what is it to be the child of a master?
And I know Lord it is holy to be gifted something so refined,
But once that gift is given, tell me what happens after?

And father, you know
There is some unspoken dissonance, in our definitions of home.
Yes father you know
I am only so much, as the seeds you choose to sow.

We are the product of parents
Trying to change the world for us.
And I could do everything right,
But I will never be enough.
I will never be.

Imagine: spreading arm like wings.
Imagine: no pain, such weight.
Imagine that option,
Not God-given, not earned, not fate.

And father, I’m invincible,
You tell me to notice that invincibility bears a weight.
And father, am I invincible?
You tell me to take caution, but I fear it is too late.

Cause what is it to fly, only certain inches of sky
Never too low nor to high, or agony awaits?

Me and the masterpiece
Falling.
Maybe I could bear the shame of it
If it hadn’t happened in front of him.

My father’s masterpiece
Falling deep in the sea,
When I realise the failure
Isn’t the masterpiece, but me.
Isn’t the masterpiece but me.
Isn’t the masterpiece but me.