John Wayne Gacy, Jr.

For his humor and his conversation
Twenty-seven people, even more
And in my best behavior

He dressed up like a clown for them
He put a cloth on their lips, quiet hands, quiet kiss on the mouth
He'd kill ten thousand people

Look underneath the house there
Summer jobs, Oh my God
With a slight of his hand, running far, running fast to the dead
He took off all their clothes for them
Find the few living things, rotting fast
Are you one of them?
With his face paint white and red
In a dark room on the bed he kissed them all
And on his best behavior
Folding John Wayne's t-shirts
Look beneath the floor boards

The neighbors, they adored him

In their sleep all were dead
I am really just like him
When the swingset hit his head
They were boys, with their cars