I can barely make out a little light from the house on the cul-de-sac

A 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 toes, 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

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.