I have an uncle, he's a dirty old man. i grew up with a bad cliche
I have learned to find other things to do on family holidays
I have tried to love the sinner and only hate the sin
But whoever wrote that never got caught in a dark corner with him
I keep a baseball bat under my bed and i always leave on a light
The same time each year i get up and check the locks
Sometimes three times at night
And if god helps those who help themselves
Where was god in my formative years
Why give me a voice to call out with and then deafen so many ears?
I have tried to forget his breath,
I have tried to forget his hands
The mechanics don't confuse me like they used to
But i still don't understand
The 9-year-old she was frightened
The 12-year-old learned not to care
Stick a sharp thin knife long into her heart
She could not even feel it was there
And there's a patch of skin between my shoulder blades
That's still just a little bit numb
It seems to be there to remind me
Of the destruction i have undone
I try to love the sinner but it's more than the sin will allow
I've looked a long time into the dark,
Hoping the truth would show me how