John Wayne Gacy, Jr. - Sufjan Stevens

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