Today the street is dead
I don’t know why it’s dead
And I wish it was not
Somber houses gaze upon me with longing eyes
Reflection of a window’s pane
That pane half closed in mournful tears
Because the street is dead today
No children play
Locked in a cage of decorated walls
No gard’ners tend with care neglected lawns
Forests of grass like the stubble of beards
Weeds grow like a stray white hair

Those curious houses
Stare at neighbor’s windows
Reflection of their pain

Inside a figure hovers like a lingering thought
But soon they fade away, saved for another day
But not today, because today the street is dead

Chimney smoke clouds the sky
Like a fuming “Why!”
The sun cowers behind a grey expanse
Because it knows no way to remedy

Today the street is dead

The hum of cars floats by
Procession of the past and passed
Its echo stays, a slight delay
But soon, like scraps of liveliness
It’s gone for far too long

I gaze into the window’s pane
And sing a thousand memories
Just to keep the death of streets
From dwelling deep inside of me

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