Simply Second Nature

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

Picasso took a torso

And turned it on it’s head

It isn’t right or wrong, it’s what he felt

And Dali, even more so

Would positively dread

Explaining why his hands of time should melt

And me, I take sweet honey

And make a tasteful rose

What can I say? It’s simply what I do

Some men make pots of money

They’re happy, I suppose, but

Be grateful that for just a lucky few

It’s simply second nature

To see what isn’t there

The mind is such a wonder to explore

And though some nights I dread

All the voices in my head

I’d rather be this way then be a bore

It’s simply second nature

To dream of something new

Then wake on fire and try to sculpt each day

It’s no blessing, it’s a curse!

Wait, no, strike that and reverse

I wouldn’t have it any other way