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 of the dead
They were boys
With their cars, summer jobs
Oh my God...
Illinois is growing on me more and more. I just got back from ten miles on the lakefill with it and felt compelled to stop at MAB to play "John Wayne Gacy, Jr." for a while. I'd probably play it all the time, if only I could figure out how to end it. I wish there was actually a full third verse -- it seems to end too abruptly. Somehow I feel like a third verse would take it from being simply a great song to being a masterpiece of "Winter" or "Only Living Boy in New York" proportions.
It's good to be running significant distances again, and all the running outside is turning me a nice dark color -- dark for me, anyway -- as tan as I was at the end of the summer two years ago in Austin. Man. I miss it there. Maybe I'll move to Austin. I could go to Waterloo Records every week, play DDR at Einstein's on Guadalupe...go to grad school...yeah.