Ah, but he was so much younger then
He’s older than that today – so he’s gonna need a bigger cake for this jubilee
Once upon a time he rhymed so fine,
Threw the fans the occasional gang sign, didn’t he?
Was a friend to the hippies – until he wasn’t anymore
He trav’led with a pen in ev’ry hand – but he only has two hands
The circus is not in town
From Celebration Row
Oh, the bakeman draws circles
Up and down the cake
He asks him what the problem is
But he’s about to flake – it’s concerning the original icing estimate
The man in him will do nearly any task
Except blow out eighty candles, that’s an awful lot to ask
If your oven serves you well
This cake’s on fire
Sprinklin’ down the road
Best to notify the building’s fire marshal just in case
This cake shall explode!
Come gather ‘round party people
Wherever you roam – but please try not to break anything
You better start singin’ or…you’ll feel quite uncomfortable
For the birthdays (and furniture) they are arrangin’
Move couches and sofas,
Who stabilize with their seat
And keep your behind quite warm
The cushions aren’t meant for your feet
Because while it’s clear that something is happening here
Without a formal invitation you don’t know what it is
Do you, random uninvited guest?
You raise up your hand while shifting a vintage credenza
And ask, “is this where it goes?”
And somebody points to the birthday boy and says,
“He knows”
And you say, “All the way over by the dining table?”
And somebody else says, “watch the crystal it’s very valuable”
And you say, “Oh my God,”
Am I the only one holding this end? (through the coaster rings of my mind)
You’ve just reached a space
Where the wrapping paper don’t bend
There’s so much more to shred
If it’s fragile, specify which is the top or the end
How many years can a ritual exist
Before it becomes extremely tedious?
Yes, ‘n’ how many years can some presents exist
Before they’re allowed to be regifted?
Yes ‘n’ how many times can a man say thank you
Pretending he really wanted what’s inside?
You may be a professional caterer or a veteran bartender
You may like to wash dishes, you might like to spam the sender
You may be the security detail or the bouncer
You may be a silver-tongued radio announcer
But you’re gonna have to serve somebody at this party – there’s no hired help
Oh, where have you been, my birthday pinata?
Oh, where have you been, my sweet tasting la plata?
I’ve stumbled inside with 136 or 142 late-night revelers
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled looking for the bathroom
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven private conversations
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, and it’s a hard candy’s a-gonna fall
Early tomorrow mornin’ the sun will most likely be shinin’
He’ll be laying hungover (he really should’ve had decaf coffee before the bed)
Wond’rin if he’d change anything at all about the party
Like hire a magician, rent a pony or ease up on the bubbly for his ninetieth
He’s got everything he needs
He’s an artist, he don’t look a day over seventy-nine
They say ev’rything can be replaced
But does that include something without a gift receipt?
“No reason to get annoyed,” said the customer service rep, she kindly wrote
There are many items here to enjoy for those who feel life is but for folk
But they’ve been through that, and this is not their going rate
So let them take a full refund, since it’s been such a long wait
Standing on the stage strumming your notes
While the eyes of his fans (or was it their phones) were glowing
Distant claps were heard in his midst
He was born in Duluth, Minnesota while a flame was growing
To keep it backed up on your hard drive and not force quit
That it is not he or she or them or this or that or what or it that you belong to
But even the greatest songwriter of the twentieth century
After his own birthday party must still have to stand naked.
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