Yvette

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