Oh, tired mind You must blur those creative lines And I try and try and try and try and try For what am I But emotion and predetermined lies That I’ll never No I’ll never rectify So build me up Again For when I fall I’ll make good art again So build me Build me up My friends What is this What is this This illness that you call a creative gift This illness that you call a gift Supposed to make me more Than I am? And what I know of hell Is your heaven will always expel Me for the impurities that lie In my head So build me up Up Again For if I fall I’ll make good art So build me Build me up Build me up my friends For my worth lies In my ability to sin And I do it with a steady hand In pen Oh, why do you need me to bleed for you All these things I create Just to help myself through Would there still be value left in my art If I didn’t have the sight to see Was it there from the start? Or was it only my pain That made me the artist I am today Does that mean I have to choose between Happiness and being great? Oh, build me up Build me up again Oh, build me up For when I fall I’ll make good art again Oh, build me up So build me Build me up my friend Build me up 'Cause my worth lies in my ability to sin Build me up My friend Oh, build me up For worth lies in my ability to sin Oh, build me up Oh, build me up Oh, build me up Build me up