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A dirty man cleans his studio, polishing edges of his past; whipping up fun magic, rubbing crevices and cracks. Move big dust around until his ears burn from old gossip. Prod pennies to grow for a young maiden, out the corner of his pocket. I'll show you this, I'll show you that - a wig, a mold, a little scrap. By the hidden nook, a number, and by the little window, a maze... talk-it of a sprocket, I'll teach you a new phrase... and no matter what matter I pushes around, I'll love you all the days.