When I was a child I'd come home from school to an empty house My father had flown the coop My mother worked as a maid in a hotel It was lonely So I brought in this baby squirrel I'd found And kept it in a shoebox And then one day, when I can home He looked... sickly He was dead already, but I didn't know that I'd forgotten to feed him for a couple days So I took him out of the box, layed him on the table And I prayed my heart out for several hours When my mother came home And found us she screamed bloody murder And picked him up and threw him in the garbage She worked hard, my mother She was exhausted She couldn't have known how cruel that was But I cried and cried, saying "God didn't answer my prayers" I remember, my mother Standing, pouring herself a whiskey - The Martin family cure for everything She looked at me and laughed "God always answers our prayers It's just rarely the answer we're looking for"