(Phillip Chevron)

The island it is silent now

But the ghosts still haunt the waves

And the torch lights up a famished man

Who fortune could not save



Did you work upon the railroad

Did you rid the streets of crime

Were your dollars from the white house

Were they from the five and dime



Did the old songs taunt or cheer you

And did they still make you cry

Did you count the months and years

Or did your teardrops quickly dry



Ah, No, says he 'twas not to be

On a coffin ship I came here

And I never even got so far

That they could change my name



Thousands are sailing

Across the Western Ocean

To a land of opportunity

That some of them will never see

Fortune prevailing

Across the Western Ocean

Their bellies full

And their spirits free

They'll break the chains of poverty

And they'll dance



In Manhattan's desert twilight

In the death of afternoon

We stepped hand in hand on Broadway

Like the first man on the moon



And "The Blackbird" broke the silence

As you whistled it so sweet

And in Brendan Behan's footsteps

I danced up and down the street



Then we said goodnight to Broadway

Giving it our best regards

Tipped our hats to Mister Cohan

Dear old Times Square's favourite bard



Then we raised a glass to J.F.K.

And a dozen more besides

When I got back to my empty room

I suppose I must have cried



Thousands are sailing

Again across the ocean

Where the hand of opportunity

Draws tickets in a lottery

Postcards we're mailing

Of sky-blue skies and oceans

From rooms the daylight never sees

Where lights don't glow on Christmas trees

But we dance