| Spent the day with my dad
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| And his old friend, Jim Wise
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| He’s on house arrest
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| And he sits around inside
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| We brought him food from Panera Bread
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| The snoring sun rolled out of bed
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| He talked about his '90 Corvette
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| His warehouse job and his knee replacement
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| Jim Wise mercy-killed his wife
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| In a hospital at her bedside
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| Then he put the gun to his head
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| And it jammed and he didn’t die
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| Awaits trial all summer long
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| And his eyes welled up when he told us
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| About how much she loved the backyard garden
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| And the budding rosebush
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| She loved the garden
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| And its budding rosebush
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| Spent the day with my dad
|
| And his friend, Jim Wise
|
| Spent the day with my dad
|
| And his old friend, Jim Wise
|
| He’s got a big, thick ankle bracelet
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| And he can’t go outside
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| He’s got a long white Amishman’s beard
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| And a catheter
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| And he’ll be headed to Mansfield Prison
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| By the end of the year, for sure
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| His shelves are sticky, old, ratty books
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| His albums are The Doors and Stevie Nicks
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| His kitchen cabinets are full of baked beans
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| His TV is silent, words flash across the screen
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| And he stares off into dead air
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| Jim Wise killed his wife out of love for her
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| At her bedside
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| And then, he put the gun to his head
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| But he failed at suicide
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| His trial’s coming up in the fall
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| And he sighed when we stepped out and we left
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| And I pointed out the pretty cardinal
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| Perched on the empty birdbath
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| The bright red cardinal
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| The empty birdbath
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| I spent today with my dad
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| And his friend, Jim Wise |