Look at all the lonely houses in rows of sorrow,
Waiting, in drizzle and darkness, for a better tomorrow.
For some it will never come and they die sitting alone,
Some are luckier, they strike gold, no longer on their own.

Like some dismal punishment for a crime they never committed,
Sitting in prison lounges, waiting for the ground committal.
You’d never know them as you passed them along the street,
The lonely souls off to see no one they will never meet.