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