Junkyard

I have lived in a junkyard

Where the ****s eat up the rain

If you get anything there 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 was 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

And 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(screams with those eyes)

"She fell sick, 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 was her reality

Yeah, when I 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!

He's as sick as she is lovely

And in need of a hand

He will know he's not worthy

When he dies alone, you see?

That's his reality

I'm not sick, I am lovely

Hatred is the curse of man

I will not feel unworthy

Because I have washed my hands, you see?

That's my reality