the kids on the old street

When the poor kids played out on the street,

their mother's would call them for lunch.

They'd be given some rice, and the kids would sit outside

next to each other eating.

If a grain fell on the floor, they'd apologise to God, pick it up, and eat it.

I said "Why are you eating that?" and they replied why shouldn't they be grateful for God's blessing?

One of those kids had a harsh father. The kid didn't have to tell you that for you to know.

All he had to do was open the door and stand there when it got dark looking mean, and the kid would scuttle off, leaving his friends to continue playing. The dad was always ready to beat the hell out of the kid. The wife had passed away many years ago.

And so the years went by, the kids grew up and that street lost some of its charm.

The new cadre of kids didn't play out as much. I went back there every few years.

I don't know what it was. But the feeling of the street just wasn't the same.

Well, it was probably age. The parents had all aged.

The housewives weren't chirping and buzzing through the day from balcony to balcony anymore. It was just more quiet, that's what it was.