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 
Twenty-seven 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 sleight 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 floorboards 
For the secrets I have hid