These houses hold the damp,
These houses are decay,
The places where we used to dance,
The places where we used to play.

They gather up the gloom,
It stays around for days,
And can’t you hear the voices loom
That echo down the alleyways?

One day a car will come
And take you far away,
And can’t you hear a distant thrum?
…Oh no, it’s not to be today.

But still the sun is south,
The way your window faces,
And it rides above the clouds
As you dream of other places.