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 hard

With a breast plate made of metal

She drives all day in her rusty Buick

Her feet don't reach the pedals

Got a jar of flies, father's disguise where his heart should be

Her mouth is sewn together

She screams with those eyes

And he says she's as sick as she is lovely

And in need of my hand

Yeah he uses his hands

He tells her "you are never worthy"

She was all alone you see

That's her reality

Should have been sleeping

Should have been dreaming

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

Because he will die alone you see

That's his reality

But I'm not sick

I am lovely

And hatred is the curse of man

And I will not feel unworthy

Because I have washed my hands you see

That's my reality