The Tipu House

In the Tipu house live all kinds of people Old ladies up the back stairs Young wives drained away the useless husband's drink Through the long, cold evening Maybe I could be one with some practice and a prayer Oh, God's children play in the toxic city garden Stealing from their brethren a saucy view of war Of domestic incidents, a guilty copulation The day of books and roses shown firmly to the door In the Tipu house, you feel for your neighbor Trade rice and greasy vegetables Shoulders on which to cry You don't feel so good about them Quite all of the time And someone has to fix the plumbing Or at least give it a try Oh, God's children play in the toxic city garden Stealing from their brethren a saucy view of war Of domestic incidents, a guilty copulation The day of books and roses shown firmly to the door In the Tipu house, there's a quiet and distant babble Marital possibilities for all a kind in the air Secrets for better dowries, for joining better families Whispered promises in the hubbub of the market square Oh, God's children play in the toxic city garden Stealing from their brethren a saucy view of war Of domestic incidents, a guilty copulation The day of books and roses shown firmly to the door In the Tipu house, there are forever changes Young gladiators nourished by the football terrace beat Aspired to fly in the moneylenders' temples of Madrid Dream hungry dreams in smooth Brioni, turning up the heat