[Intro] [Fast, bouncy piano triplets. Very energetic, bright C-Major feel.] [Spoken, with a cheeky grin] "I used to spend three hours picking a brush preset. Three hours. I was essentially a glorified interior decorator for my own anxiety. But then... I saw the light. Or rather, I saw the lack of a plan." [Verse 1] I was a seeker of the Golden Ratio, a slave to the 'Undo' key I wanted every pixel to prove my own divinity I’d sketch a line, then erase the line, then cry about the line While the clock on the wall was mocking me and wasting all my time! I was waiting for a 'Vision,' for a 'Muse' to take my hand But Muses are just freelancers who never show as planned. So I threw away the ruler! I burned the color wheel! And I traded 'Being Clever' for just 'Learning How to Feel!' [Pre-Chorus] [The piano starts hammering out chords, building tension] And suddenly the clouds part! The gray begins to glow! When you stop trying to 'Govern' The things you didn't know you know! [Chorus] [Explosion of sound—add drums, bass, and a choir of 'Oohs'] Oh, Hallelujah! To the Unbound Gesture! Praise be to the mess on my sleeve! I’ve found a religion where I don’t need a mission And I don’t even have to believe! It’s the Gospel of Spontaneity, the Rapture of the Wrist It’s the glorious beauty of the things I haven't kissed With a logic or a reason! It’s a treason to the 'Plain'! I’m washing all the 'Should-Haves' right out of my brain! [Verse 2] [Fast, witty, breathless—Minchin style] Now, some might say it’s lazy, or it’s 'Modern Art' (the slur) But I’m talking 'Psychic Automatism'—make sure those syllables occur! It’s Borduas! It’s Riopelle! It’s a middle-finger swell To the Church of Social Media and its curated hell! I don’t need a 'Concept Statement' or a 'Master’s in Fine Art' To let the ink go sprinting from the chambers of my heart! It’s visceral! It’s literal! It’s slightly peripheral! And frankly, for my blood pressure, it’s bloody-well miracle! [Bridge] [Music slows down to a beautiful, swelling string section] Because there is a holiness in the unplanned stroke. A truth that only speaks when the 'Rational Self' is broke. It’s not about the 'Masterpiece'—that’s just a shiny lie. It’s about the lightning bolt between the hand and the eye! [Pause] [And then... EVERYTHING kicks back in!] [Chorus] [Maximum volume, joyous] Oh, Hallelujah! To the Unbound Gesture! Praise be to the paint on the floor! I’m a holy-roller painter, a subconscious-sainter And I’m not gonna plan anymore! It’s the Gospel of the Impulse! The Scripture of the Spray! The Algorithm’s weeping, but I’m having a great day! Yes, the Algorithm’s weeping... But I’m finally... playing... today! [Outro] [Fast, virtuosic piano run up the scales] [Big Finish]
