Don’t you hear the sound of grieving
For the dying of our city?
Too soon, too sudden—it’s deceiving—
Not even halfway to fifty.
And don’t you rage against this thieving
Of hope, this trampling of bitty
Boys and girls without any pity?
Oh, how I feel an urge for leaving,
Faraway from these sly and shifty
Who’re murdering our beloved city!
Surely you find me disbelieving,
For we’ve always been brave and gritty;
But, what are we without our city?
What are we without our city?