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