the wreck of the barbie ferrari |
|
Saturday
night he comes home stinking |
sunday
morning she wakes up thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking |
does
she need to get the kids dressed to go to church |
he's
pulled a shotgun out of the lurch |
he
heads for the TV room starts to search |
his
problems swollen like a river and his reality's shrinking |
he
finds them huddled by the toy box and splatters 'em all |
the
ken and the midge and the skipper doll |
they
look like a family but they're really not at all |
|
well
he's sad but he ain't sorry |
it
ain't the end of the world |
it's
just the wreck of the barbie ferrari |
|
he
wonders if he ever said I do |
to
that little blonde plastic voodoo |
and
his mind's gone fishin' |
well
it started just as plain as the nose on your face |
now
it's in a thousand peices all over the place |
he
thought she was driving but it's twisted beyond recognition |
all
the diapers and the tutus and the basketballs |
she
was givin' them a lift to the promised mall |
but
somewhere by the TV that V-12 stalled |
as
he loaded the chamber her eyes got starry |
it
ain't the end of the world |
it's
just wreck of the barbie ferrari |
when
they get home from church won't they be sorry |
he's
cornered 'em all on his urban safari |
|
It
aint the end of the world... |
|
He's
played with cars and guns since he could crawl |
now
he wishes he'd never met that doll with her face gone |
there
wasnt nothing he ever thought about |
he
couldn't drive through or shoot his way out |
as
he surveys the family room littered with dolls |
he
can't find one leg to stand on |
he
aims the gun at his head now he's starting to cry |
looking
for the courage to let it fly |
can't
live without his family now that something has died |
he's
not sure who's hurt not sure who's sorry |
|
It
ain't the end of the world... |