I talk to houses

I talk to houses in the summertime

They never tell me nothing

Walls can talk but not to you

Because you didn’t learn to listen

And they whisper to you all the time

you couldn’t hear it coming

but they told you things 

that make you want to die, it feels disgusting

And they cost too much to dream about

You’ll never own a carpet

And the floor on which you’re standing

Sinking daily, like your credit

When you bring it up, utopian

For my father was a landlord

And I find these contradictions

Hard to bear, so I ignore them

But I couldn’t, were I homeless

As of yet, I think I won’t be

They won’t come for me,

they’ll come for you

I’m standing in the way