White Trash Fantasy
He's holed up in his room with Shakespeare on his lap –
Fucked up words whirling through his brain
And nothin' sounds the same.
Outside in the hallway Pa's pacing back and forth –
Peeling paper leaving walls bare
And he's cussin' at air.
Mama traded her crown for babies on her hip –
She's gone to seed and money's tight
Ain't no chicken tonight.
But Baby's still out back, face tilted to the sky –
Smilin' at the solar eclipse
Thinkin' nothin's so grand as livin' with all this.