South of no North

And when I'm in my neighborliood, I drive
past the house I used to live in and there are strangers living there. Those Sundays
were good, though, most of those Sundays were good, a tiny light in the dark
depression days when our fathers walked the front porches, jobless and impotent and
glanced at us beating the shit out of each other, then went inside and stared at the
walls, afraid to play the radio because of the electric bill.

Bop bop against that curtain

So the day arrives when it's over. Either there is a split or the whole
thing resolves into a truce: two people living together without feeling anything. I
believe that being alone is better.