LYRICS:

I lived a happy life ‘til I was ten years old
When debt landed dad in prison and our country house was sold.
Lodged with a lady in her London flat so cold
Worked at a boot polish factory, labelling jars quite dull, be told.
Goodness only knows I was a miserable soul.

For a time I went to school but then I found a job
As a clerk to a lawyer, oh it made my poor head throb.
I failed to be an actor, despite my loud gob
Ended up reporting speeches of the parliamentary mob.
Then as everybody knows, I started writing prose.

Put my life into my books, friends and enemies and crooks
Legal bosses of the crop in “The Old Curiosity Shop”
Fagin in “Oliver Twist”, a factory pal, you get the gist.
And although my memory’s quite foggy
Got Scrooge from the grave of Ebenezer Scroggy.

My first book was an overnight sensation
But I drove myself too hard to enjoy the agitation.
Despite my wealth, my family begged for money
I wrote of it in “Chuzzlewit” which people said was funny.
Didn’t sell like books before, my family still asked for more.

“Little Dorrit” is a tale about my dad in debtor’s jail
While “Hard Times” tells my life ‘bout when I tried to leave my wife.
Little Nell’s here was my poor dear departed sister-in-law
And “David Copperfield”, working in a factory
I must confess that that was really me.

In my life felt shamed ‘bout poverty in childhood
Wrote about sadness, suffering and fears.
Also wrote about people with funny names
Bumble, Smallweed, Scrooge, Uriah Heep
And Wackford Squeers.

Whilst writing “Edwin Drood”
Train crashed in, didn't helped my mood.
Still I drove myself on with readings far across the pond
Died before I wrote Drood’s end, sort of thing drove me ‘round the bend.

So Dickens, take a Dickens, take a bow
And Heaven knows I’m miserable now.