It's A Hard World Sometimes For Little Things

Your father is a furious man But I seen him turn gold from empty hands He works his life away, he says, for me He takes what he wants and we let him We will bury her in a crowd of the loneliest people we can find We will help them dress in their Sunday best, wave their grief around like it's some contest We will watch them weep themselves to death Will you cover her when you let her go Will you arm her with all the threats you know? Will you cover her when you let her out Will you let her out to be with me?