James Franco - 31 lyrics

It was birthday thirty-one I was in Suffolk, Virginia, directing A short film called Herbert White. We stayed at the Hilton Gardens, The only hotel in town, The rest are motels, rented monthly. There are no restaurants, but plenty of strip malls, Prefabricated houses and little swamps; People sit in their cars in gas-station lots And eat and smoke. This is eating out in Suffolk. The actor that f**s a goat in my film Was home-schooled because his parents didn't Want him to be subjected to d**, guns and violence. "And blacks," I think. Indian River, the school is called. Tyrone is his name, a handsome, dumb-faced kid. There were baby goats; they ran around their pen on stiff, stumpy legs. * I've had good and bad birthdays. And boy do they make me think About when I was younger, When I had no friends and my mom drove me to school Because I lost my license drunk-driving, and we wouldn't talk, We would listen to Blonde on Blonde Every morning, and life was like moving through something Thick and gray that had no purpose. And now I see that everything has had as much purpose As I give it, or at least it can all make its way Into my poem and become something else, And in that way all that sh**, and all those bad birthdays, And the good ones are markers in an anniversary line - And they carry less and less of their original pain, And become emptier, just markers really, building blocks, To be turned into constructions and f**ed with.