I can barely make out a little light from the house on the cul-de-sac
A 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 toes, 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
I let out my breath, and I couple with death, I couple with death

Saw your father last night, in the window the light made a silhouette
Saw him hold you that way, he won't hold you that way anymore, Yvette