junkyard

i have lived in a junkyard, where the weeds eat up the rain, if you get anything there, even 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's my reality, he had a sick little girl, dirty and harmed, with a breast plate made of metal, she drives all day in a rusty buick, and her feet don't reach the pedals, got a jar of flies, a father's disguise, where his heart should be, a mouth is sown together, she screams with those eyes, she screams with those eyes, she's as sick, as she is lovely, and in need of my hand, he tells her, "you are never worthy", she was all alone, you see, that was her reality, yeaaaah. well i've shoulda been sleepin', shoulda been dreamin', 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, and i say, "he's as sick as he is lovely, and in need of a hand", he will know he's not worthy, when he dies alone you'll see, that's his reality, i'm not sick, i am lovely, and hatred is the curse of man, and i will not feel unworthy, cause i've washed my hands, you see, that's my reality, yeah