The Heart of Our House

The heart of my house said the tired young wife

Is the room that my husband and children dislike

For they’d never be seen near a dish cloth or soap

And if they had to cook well they’d just never cope

So my sanctuary’s found in the room they all hate

From whence dinner appears all laid out on a plate

Yes the life of my house and the peace in my house

And the heart of my house - is the kitchen



The heart of our house said the boy with the lisp

Is not so mundane I am thinking

For the life of our house is the lounge in our house

It is nothing so base as the kitchen

Our sofas are stuffed to the point where they sigh

The birds in our paintings are quite free to fly

Yes the heart of our house is the lounge in our house

The hired help live in the kitchen



The heart of our house said the girl with red hair

Is out in the light and the warmth and the air

The sky is my roof and the grass is my floor

And it puzzles me why people seem to want more

The life of our house is God’s own fresh air

To be trapped by four walls is a thing I can’t bear

No the heart of our house can’t be inside a house

Nor an over stuffed lounge or a kitchen



The heart of our house said the cheeky young chap

To my mind, is wherever my dinner is at

We don’t have no lounge with no overstuffed chairs

And we’ve only one room at the top of the stairs

My life is my own and it’s playing I like

Climbing the apple tree, riding my bike

No the heart of our house is what goes in my mouth

And I don’t really care for our kitchen



The heart of our house said the girl with the pout

All wriggles and giggles and teeth falling out

Is wherever my dad isn’t lurking in wait

With his beer in his hand and his feet on the grate

Shouting at demons and cursing the fire

Beset as he is by a family of liars

No the heart of our house, the best place in our house

Is wherever my dad isn’t sitting

 

The heart of my house said the guy with long hair

With his trembling hands and his uncertain air

It might be the kitchen I can’t seem to tell

For I’m suffering in silence and living in hell

My house is a squat in a slum in a city

My existence a drug without conscience or pity

No the life of my house and the heart of my house

Is wherever I seem to be tripping



The heart of my house, said the sexy young thing

Is chrome white and marble, and goes with a swing

We’re having a party, a wonderful time

Do grab an hors-de-oeuvre and a smidgen of wine

And don’t burden us with your stories of sorrow

There’ll be sadness enough in our parting tomorrow

I’m surrounded by beautiful people like me

And the heart of this house is the party you see



The heart of my house said the elderly man

Is wherever my wife is, wherever I am

For fifty-two years we’ve been rattling around

With my head in the clouds and her feet on the ground

He’s a silly old sod she says with a laugh

Taking hold of his hand, in front of their hearth

No the life of our house and the heart of our house

Is wherever my old man is kipping



The heart of my house said the man with the beard

Is quiet and lovely and not to be feared

Its rooms are all peaceful, its halls filled with light

It’s a wonderful, beautiful, welcoming sight

There’s no anger, no fighting, no hurting, no pain

It’s a place where you’ll never be frightened again

Yes the heart of my house is the whole of my house

And the whole of my house is for living
(All welcome)


Deb Hawken
Definitely last century