In honor of the sainted clown, and well late.
He was a quiet kid
I can't recall a thing he did
Til one day the teacher said
"Oh, by the way.
Be extra nice to John today,
'Cause pretty soon he'll have to go away."
Well the rumor spread;
"You children humor him," they said.
We called him tumor head.
We didn't know.
And he never even let it show
That he didn't have too long to go.
But real people would understand,
and real people would lend a helping hand.
But real people are hard to find.
He didn't die too fast.
His eighteen months had long been passed,
and sometimes we'd stop and ask,
"How many days?"
But we mostly stayed away from his place
'cause it was hard to look him in the face.
But real people would understand,
and real people would lend a helping hand.
But real people are hard to find.
We wore our suits and ties,
and tried our best to look surprised,
but then we realized
we didn't care.
But we cried because his folks was there.
And when they opened up the box we stared.
And tonight, Sally's crying 'cause the weekend's free.
And tomorrow, Jenny's crying 'cause her clothes are old.
And the next day, Sherry's crying through soap operas on TV, that's how it goes.
And tonight, I am not drinking, 'cause I wanna be.
And it don't matter if anyone cares or even knows
that ten years ago today we lost a friend of ours, gee, that's how it goes.
But real people would understand.
-Mac McAnally, "Real People", reconstructed from memory because copyright disputes have rendered the song unfindable. I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend, and I'm sorry that I'm never, ever able to conjure the proper bitterness and bile on this day. Every single year, for ten years, I've been chipper on this day and unable to repress it. Does it even matter? I don't know. And he's still dead, anyway. Fucking world.
Stupid Yousendit link.