Why was Scrooge so god ****** special?
Where was Jacob's chance at heaven?

Like Bill Murray at the end of Scrooged
I'm overcome with emotion
And it's not just the *****
Unfettered sentimentality
Swiftly accrued
As I roll round in mawkishness
That I consume like food
Pining for that which I let die
And would again
To myself I just lie
I wouldn't know the truth
I'm an alien to it
Like some bastardised reverse ******* Jimmy Stewart.

Piles and piles
Tears and years
My soul represented through colors
Paintings
Ever since I was 6
It's all right Infront of me

Going through the basket
Remembering what I felt when painting this or that
Seeing myself get better and better
From scribbles
To, well, better scribbles
With detail
And color
Both have feeling

Sometimes I forget when I painted something
But I can tell from what I did
From the shapes and colors
That bled from my brush
Or my hand
Or anything I found fit

One basket
Holds my story

One basket
Showing the real me

One basket
Showing how I've been changing

And I went through it
Wow
What a journey

In Hollywood
Gas masks work forever
And in the worst conditions imaginable
In reality I bet they're a bit ****
It just doesn't seem that tangible.

Steven Spielberg called
And offered me and my identical twin brother a job
It was on his hatchery
We'd be monitoring
The defacatory habits
Of the livestock
We were to be
Close Hen Counters Of the **** Kind.