Well, Frank settled down in the Valley and hung his wild years on a nail that he drove through his wife’s forehead.
He sold used office furniture out there on San Fernando Road and assumed a $30,000 loan at 15 1/4 % and put down payment on a little two bedroom place.
His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash, made good bloody marys, kept her mouth shut most of the time, had a little Chihuahua named Carlos that had some kind of skin disease and was totally blind.
They had a thoroughly modern kitchen, self-cleaning oven, the whole bit.
Frank drove a little sedan. They were so happy.
One night Frank was on his way home from work, stopped at the liquor store, picked up a couple Mickey’s Big Mouths, drank ’em in the car on his way to the Shell station, he got a gallon of gas in a can, drove home,
doused everything in the house, torched it.
Parked across the street, laughing, watching it burn,
all Halloween orange and chimney red.
Then Frank put on a top forty station got on the Hollywood Freeway, headed north.
Never could stand that dog
Lyric brougt to you by Tom-wats.spb.ru.
Written by Tom Waits on the album Swordfishtrombones.