And I have lived in a junkyard, where the weeds eat up the rain
You get anything there, you are out of place
You know there's hell to pay
And say, "You're are 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