Queer

Lyrics

Dave Bidini and Dave Clark You woke the wrecking yard hounds When you slammed the passenger side Father watched you from the yard With his knuckles wrapped in ice Now the screen door is still broken Since you kicked your Kodiaks through it But we left the Christmas tree standing In case you turned around Now I've heard you've got a good job Pitching hay down in Salmon Arm Maybe I'll hike there from the coast When the weather starts to warm K.D. called on the weekend; She was crying on the telephone 'Cause father said as far as he's concerned You've been stricken from our home Dad! He's gone out of his head (She's gone out of her head.) He's gone out of his head (She's gone out of his head.) He's gone out of his head Sometimes choices aren't so clear Father raged like a soldier He put his fist through the kitchen door When I said it would have been better if You had split on your own accord I don't care about the damage But I wish you were there to see it When I scored a hat-trick on the team That called you a fucking queer Dad! He's gone out of his head (She's gone out of her head.) He's gone out of his head (She's gone out of his head.) He's gone out of his head Sometimes choices aren't so clear Gonna find me another home (The things you'll never know) Gonna find me another home (The things you'll never know) Gonna find me another home (The things you'll never feel) Gonna find me another home Gonna find me another home (The times you'll never know) Gonna find me another home (The things you'll never know) Gonna find me another home (The things you'll never feel) Gonna find me another home (I'm in the country now, among the rattlesnakes and the sage-brush. The concrete and asphalt and glass are gone, and in its place is well water and black spruce and gravel roads which snake and curl and wind through the valley. I wish you were here to watch the sun sneak above the mountains and play with the pure light across the farmland; it'll fuck your mind up. But I'm glad I'm here and not there. If I had stayed, I would've killed him. I would have come home and found him asleep on the couch, and walked up to him and pressed the gun against his head, and watched it explode in a glorious watercolor fountain, all thick and red and gory. I would have used it to paint the picture I'm seeing now.)