Yeah. Everybody keeps saying I'm under construction. No. Some people under construction, some people are work in progress. Big difference. Cosmic on a Sunday morning Wanna be a swimmer in it Work, work in progress Marble dust falling while the angels sketch the script Cosmic on a Sunday morning Hope's so halfway counterfeit Under construction just means potholes getting filled so traffic finally fits God damn, see A work in progress feels sacred, like Michelangelo staring at a giant block saying there's already something beautiful trapped inside of it. That's different. That's sculpting, that's vision, that's patience mixed with collision. That's somebody sanding the rough edges while still believing in the final form worth living. Under construction? That shit usually survival. Orange cones, detours, temporary patch jobs. Workers smoking cigarettes near wet asphalt. Nobody standing around crying over potholes getting filled, nobody gasps at fresh cement. But a sculpture? People travel oceans for that. Damn. And I think some people confuse repair with transformation. You fixed your leaks, congrats. But did you become art? Work in progress Truths echo through my ribs Under construction, just enough to kind of live Cosmic on a Sunday morning Wanna be a swimmer in it Work, work in progress Every heartbreak carving another masterpiece within Cosmic on a Sunday morning Sunlight cut through all the mist Under construction just means traffic moving a little smoother through your shifts Work in progress Progress Progress Work in progress I know dudes who call themselves healing, but really just reinstalling ceilings. Patch the drywall, paint the damage, same exact spirit underneath the paneling. That's maintenance. I'm talking evolution, cathedral building type transformation, so reconstruction through devastation. Pressure so deep it alters vibration. See, a masterpiece is ugly halfway through. Half-finished statues look terrifying too. Random limbs, blank eyes that stare everywhere, no applause while the artist fights through. That's real growth. Real growth ain't aesthetic immediately. Sometimes becoming beautiful looks violent briefly. Sometimes God got the whole damn workshop filthy while your future self is still hidden completely. Meanwhile, under construction got signs everywhere. Sorry for inconvenience. That's the whole goal, convenience. But art? Art disturbs first. A masterpiece rearranges rooms internally. A pothole patch stops suspension damage temporarily. Big difference. Don't mistake survival for transcendence. Don't mistake repair for invention. Marble dust fly, still becoming something heaven sent. And honestly, I think that's why some people stay empty after self-help. They repair functionality, never chase magnificence. Learn coping skills, never touch transcendence. Whole world rewards efficiency more than depth. Damn. But me? I want to become something somebody feels forever. Not perfect, alive. I want stars that add texture, storms that add color, losses that carve wisdom cleaner. I don't want to just drive smoother, I want to be a cathedral people remember. So if I disappear some seasons, if the dust is too thick to recognize me, that's fine. Masterpieces look unfinished for a long damn time.
