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.