[Intro: Automated Voice]
Search radius: twenty miles from Calder Street.
Maximum monthly rent: still no matching listings found.
Applications sent: nine since Monday.
Replies received: none by Tuesday morning.

[Verse 1: Narrator, Young Female Rap]
I tour one basement with mold by the bed,
A pipe over pillows, brown rings overhead.
The agent says "cosmetic," then lists every fee:
Application, credit check, proof of income times three.
The next room has no window, just cream-painted brick,
Still double the price that appeared when I clicked.
By evening, six fees leave my balance low;
Every quiet inbox keeps the answer below.

[Hook: Narrator, Young Female Rap]
No place to go, but the city has rooms,
Lights off at midnight, no curtains, no shoes.
No place to go, so the night buses roll
Past a thousand lit windows, empty and cold.

[Verse 2: Narrator, Young Female Rap]
My friend gives me one edge of his floor,
Two coats for a pillow, my bag by the door.
His lease bans guests, so I leave before five,
Wash up at the station, dress under fluorescent light.
The notice splits our nights before move-out day;
Ma guards the apartment while I search far away.
I work eight hours and keep missing the till;
My coworker asks. I say, "Tired," and stand still.

[Hook: Narrator, Young Female Rap]
No place to go, but the city has rooms,
Lights off at midnight, no curtains, no shoes.
No place to go, so the night buses roll
Past a thousand lit windows, empty and cold.

[Verse 3: Narrator, Young Female Rap]
At two in the morning, Route Seventeen ends;
The driver knows faces, starts the loop again.
A cleaner sleeps upright, still wearing her vest;
A cook holds his backpack against his chest.
The offices get swept; the late crowd gets fed
By workers riding circles instead of a bed.
We pass Calder Street; Ma's kitchen still glows;
I press both palms to the glass as it goes.

[Bridge: Narrator, Young Female Rap]
Some lose an address one couch at a time,
One borrowed floor, then one more overnight line.
No single loud moment, no clean final blow;
Room after room till the last couch says no.

[Instrumental Break][Half-time drums drop out, leaving upright bass, bus-door rhythm, and isolated Rhodes notes before the kick returns.]

[Final Hook: Narrator, Young Female Rap]
No place to go, but the causes are plain:
Low wages, high deposits, rent raised again.
No place to go, though the dark towers show
There are rooms in this city with nobody home.
No place to go starts with numbers in ink;
I pull the stop cord with no time to think.

[Outro: Narrator, Young Female Spoken]
Route Seventeen turns. Calder Street passes.
I pull the cord
one stop too late.
