These are the houses of the poor—
Strange animals...  they live in view...
That woman on the second floor,
There’s nothing that she wants to do.

She sits unmoving in the light,
She combs her hair, walks to and fro,
Argues with someone out of sight—
There’s nowhere that she wants to go.

She cleans and cooks, sits down to eat,
And does the dishes.  When she dies