The first thing I remember was the friction in the room
And that brown spinet piano that never played in tune
The [bad word] impatient tyrant, the [bad word] malcontent,
The need to find the pieces, and the absence of cement
No one ever told me about the right way to love
And no one ever showed me what we're supposed to be made of
So don't be too forthright about what you think that I should be
And I'll willingly accept your low opinion of me

The last thing I remember was the slamming of the door
And the resonance of my imperfection broke the silence once more
The selfish angry [bad word] who doesn't want to hear
I tried to [bad word] you turned the other ear
The worn out broken record who doesn't fit the mold
The righteous independent, the mood so harsh and cold
Momma never told me about the right way to love
And daddy never showed me what we're supposed to be made of
So don't be too forthright about what you think that I should be
And I'll willingly accept your low opinion of me