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.