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 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.