Poor house ... poor, lonely house,
Where did your people go?
Why did they leave you alone like this?
Is there any way to know?
So colorless and desolate,
Pathetic, sagging place,
Wretched and forsaken,
Standing only by God's grace.
One more storm ... and POOF ... you're gone!
Though I s'pose it doesn't matter,
Shingle by shingle and board by board,
You'll soon be wholly scattered.
Oh, aging house, if you could talk,
The stories you could tell,
What went on within your walls,
Before you became a shell.
How many generations lived there?
How many can you recall?
How old are you? When were you built?
How many babies crawled down your halls?
So, why were you abandoned?
Who left you alone to die?
There surely must have been a time,
When love and laughter were inside.
Who stripped you of your finery?
Or looted things considered plain?
When vandals raped and took your pride,
Did you protest in pain?
When they painted mean things on your face,
Did you shudder? Did you cry?
Was that when, poor little house,
You just gave up and died?
You know, houses aren't just houses,
All started out as homes,
Once they all held families,
Of their very own.
But, boarded up and clueless,
No sign of who lived there before,
Who knew who was first or last,
To go in or out those doors.
Empty houses are like empty hearts,
They make us sad and blue,
Hearts don't last long when love has gone,
And empty houses give up, too.