The wind blows whispers down the street,
Having free reign with the town so bleak —
Like everything else it’s — all gone away.
The Town Hall clock gives forth its chime,
For no-one there to ask the time —
Like everything else they’re — all gone away.
The grocer’s shop hangs up its sign
The sign says closed, it’s a sign of the times —
Like everything else they’ve — all gone away.
But somewhere the party never ends
And greedy hands rub together again —
Shipping out the profits that they’ve stolen
An eerie wail comes from the pit
The ghosts of the men take the morning shift —
Just like clockwork — rusting away.
Come take a walk upon these hills
And see how monetarism kills —
Whole communities —
Even families —
There’s nothing left so — They’ve all gone away.