Junkyard

I have lived in a junkyard,

Where the weeds eat up the rain

If you get anything there, even out of place

You know there's hell to pay

And he said, "you're as sick, as you are lovely,

And in need of a hand"

He tells me, "you are never worthy"

But I was just a child, you see

That's my reality

He had a sick little girl, dirty and harmed

With a breast plate made of metal

She drives all day in a rusty buick

And her feet don't reach the pedals

Got a jar of flies, a father's disguise,

Where his heart should be

A mouth is sown together

She screams with those eyes

(She screams with those eyes)

She screams with those eyes

She's as sick, as she is lovely

And in need of my hand

He tells her, "you are never worthy"

She was all alone, you see

That was her reality

Well I've shoulda been sleepin', shoulda been dreamin'

But I wake up to broken glass

There'll be one more empty desk in my homeroom class

I got an old bone pocket knife, tight in my right hand

To save my poor mother from the junkyard man

And I say, "he's as sick as he is lovely,

And in need of a hand"

He will know he's not worthy

When he dies alone you'll see

That's his reality

I'm not sick, I am lovely

And hatred is the curse of man

And I will not feel unworthy

Cause I've washed my hands, you see

That's my reality, yeah