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've - all gone away.



The Grocer's shop hangs up its sign

The sign say's 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.