The memories had begun to fade Until the story was relayed By someone whom I chanced to meet Of what he'd seen of Ferris Street – Of what he'd seen of Ferris Street. And so it was that I returned To see the street that I had spurned And from its grip my presence torn, From Ferris Street where I was born – From Ferris Street where I was born. A hundred years the wind has blown The dust across the cobblestones. It even blew their hopes aside For here they stayed and here they died – For here they stayed and here they died. But time has brought the last defeat, And here I stand on Ferris Street; The iron girders red with rust, The stonework lying in the dust – The stonework lying in the dust... Of Ferris Street.