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 upstairs

Head to your toe,

nobody will know it was you

I might not be a man yet,

But that bastard will never be,

So I'm cleaning my Weatherby

My sight and 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.