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.