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?