Ferris Street

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.