Serial Killers Amuse Me & Other Incoherent Ramblings

Dec 23, 2005 03:11

His father was a drinker and his mother cried in bed
Folding John Wayne's t-shirts when the swingset hit his head
The neighbors they adored him
For his humor and his conversation
Look underneath the house there
Find the few living things, rotting fast, in their sleep
Oh the dead
27 people
Even more, they were boys, with their cars, summer jobs
Oh my God
Are you one of them?
He dressed up like a clown for them
With his face paint white and red
And on his best behavior
In a dark room on the bed he kissed them all
He'd kill ten thousand people
With a slight of his hand, running far, running fast to the dead
He took off all their clothes for them
He put a cloth on their lips, quiet hands, quiet kiss on the mouth
And in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floor boards
For the secrets I have hid

Yeah, I've been away for quite a while, and I'm not sure that I'm quite ready to make the triumphant return that you've all been expecting (well, nobody was really expecting all that much, or anything for that matter...who really reads my meandering disconnected surrealistic ramblings anyways? Ooh, big words, I've obviously had fun with the dictionary lately). Well, soon my precious, I shall actually make a real entry into this extremely neglected journal. Until then, you'll have to do with these lyrics, from one of my new favorite songs. It makes me cry, and you should all download it or buy it as soon as humanly possible.
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