I can barely make out a little light
From the house on the cul-de-sac
Bedroom upstairs, it's a family affair
I've watched you in class, your eyes
Are cut glass and you stay covered up,
Head to your toe, so nobody will notice you
I might not be a man yet,
But that bastard will never be,
So I'm cleaning my weatherby
I sight in my scope
And I hope against hope
I hope against hope
Your mother seems nice
I don't understand why she won't say anything
As if she can't see who he turned out to be
I might not be a man yet,
But your father will never be
So I load up my weatherby,
And I let out my breath,
And I couple with death
I couple with death
Saw your father last night
And in the window the light made a silhouette.
Saw him hold you that way
He won't hold you that way anymore, Yvette
