Born on the Fourth Of July

Sideways, she walked down the cerebral cortex.
Constantly looking from side to side, bending down to touch the earth.
Ah, yes, we know him so well in the galleys of our mind.
Strung up like Christmas lights sparkling in the window of a brothel.
She's talking in two tongues.
Something that sounds like French and a mix of Southern Hospitality.
Her allergy to silver never satisfied her fashion needs.
Wearing the metal until she bled,
crying "OH the things I do for fashion.."
A life gripped in her palm,
Enclosed with the star-y, the spangle-y, and the banter.
Oh yes, mad man grow in such futuristic settings.
And if you would have listened to the floor boards,
Instead of The Pledge of Alligence...
You'd hear Tom Waits filling the delivery room,
Cold words from a coarse mouth.
"I don't have a drinking problem 'Cept when I can't get a drink."

He was born.
He was Born.
Born he was..
On this day..
That we.. Couldn't give a flying fuck about.
But God Damn, raise your glass..
For the fucking mad man himself.
Born on the Fourth of July. (Poor thing)


Happy Birthday!
"I'll take a rusty nail, scratch your initials in my arm..."