[WILLY WONKA]
A painter needs no reason
To make a thing of art
Yes, there’s no switch to stop and start the flow

A gardener has his season
His green thumb and his heart
Don’t ask the man “why does your garden grow?”

A poet sits for hours
With words upon his tongue
He cannot help but rhyme his doom and gloom

So if you taste my flowers
You’ll see that I’m among
That certain group, that lucky troupe for whom

It’s simply second nature
To wish away the gray
To take a licorice stick and make a tree
Yes, there’s no rhyme or reason
I was simply made this way
What’s strange to you is natural to me

It’s simply second nature
To paint outside the lines
It merely is the way that I was born
You see I’ve been selected
To create the unexpected
And make each day feel just like Christmas morn
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