Just because a song has the word "house, homes, and rooms" doesn't necessarily make it a song ABOUT such. Grumpity, grump! But there are a whole lot of songs, some good ones, that are more focused.

Few things are more terrifying than an outbreak of arson in a neighborhood. This song was especially written in response to my complaint that while arson was alive and well in many major cities, I hadn't come across a single protest song. Paul Emery, a singer-songwriter from Michigan, boldly rose to the challenge. Emery, whose house did catch fire and whose vintage Gibson guitar recovered from extensive third degree burns, says:

"Losing your place is bad when it's an accident but it's especially hard to deal with if you know some fucker's got paid to do it and that he's just some minor pawn in the economic arrangement that's responsible for you standing in the street."

This song describes how you might feel as you begin to explain to your partner, or to someone else you love, that someone just burned down your home and it makes perfect sense:

ARSON'S JUST BUSINESS

(Original Words & Music by Paul Emery © 1982
Adapted slightly by Charlie Ipcar - 1993)

Baby, you won't believe it,
How someone could come around;
Take our house,
Just burn it down;
Old landlord's standing by the fire trucks,
Over there with the police,
Over here the kids are standing in a puddle,
Hell, it's nighttime in the streets.

They all say they're sorry,
But there's nothing they can do;
Happens all the time, LA, Chicago,
New York, it's nothing new;
They all got insurance
And that's the lucky thing;
Ain't no way to catch them bastards,
Come and done this thing.

Chorus:

They'll burn down the whole damn city,
Get paid their share;
What the hell's the difference, ain't no reason
For us to be staying here;
Ain't no jobs left,
Just booze, junkies and welfare;
Arson's just business;
Business, it don't care.

You know, this building,
Wasn't worth much anyway;
You remember how the wind blew, Baby,
How the curtains you put up would sway?
Got so cold, sometimes,
We'd all sleep together in one bed;
Burnt up everything we had,
Thank God, no one's dead.

When you come home, Baby,
We can drive on down the street;
Of course, by then all the ashes
Will be covered up with weeds;
The thing is, it really scares me,
All the hope and love that burnt up there;
Thirty years of our life,
We tried to raise a family there. (CHO)

Warm regards,
Landlady's Daughter