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 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.