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, so 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.