John Forster - Entering Marion
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Every year I drive out to Cape Cod for the last part of June
Leave the city by 10, then you're there in the late afternoon
On the way, there's a village called Marion that you pass through
The first time I approached it,
I'll always remember the sign that came into view
It said: "Entering Marion"
And I thought, "What a fun little sign!"
But the feeling of entering Marion had a kick that was hard to define
A rapturous rush, a physical flush, chills up and down the spine
For the few minutes I was in Marion, all Massachusetts was mine
Well, it got to be kind of an annual thing;
The event that would start each vacation off with a bang!
Then one year, who knows why, I decided to try a new route
So I got out my map and I traced one I thought was a beaute
After driving all morning I came to the top of a hill
Where a sign stood before me that promised a new kind of thrill
It said: "Entering Beverly"
Which was lovely and not overbuilt
And the pleasure of entering Beverly far outweighed any feelings of guilt
I could say I'm contrite, but it wouldn't be right
For the truth is that later that day,I found myself entering Sharon
It was there, so was I, we enjoyed it; hey, what can I say?
By the next year I'd try any route just for novelty's sake
I was cursed with a thirst that no single township could slake
Oh, at the wheel I looked calm, but inside I was running a mock
When a sign in the road dead ahead sent me straight into shock
{gasp}
"Entering Lawrence"
My god; I was out of control!
And I'd no sooner finished with Lawrence,
Then boom; I was entering Lowel
Then I backtracked and reentered Lawrence
Then Quincy and Norton as well
Around midnight I pulled into Ethel and flopped in a fleabag motel
I slept fitfully in my clothing
And awoke in a pool of sweat and self-loathing
Lying there, feeling lower than carion,
A name came clear as a clarion
I jumped in my car
And before very far--
I was entering Marion.
How totally, wonderfully great!
How grand to be entering Marion
After tramping all over the state.
Every sleaze-bucket burb,
Every tryst by the curb
Had really just helped me to find
I'm happiest entering Marion.
I guess I'm the Marion kind.
Oh yes, I'm the Marion kind.
