The streets have dried up But, bridges are leaking It’s all coming down And no one here's speaking Of winds freed from sailing Of old captain Sterling Only wealthy men sing Of sleeping dogs lying
Grey ivy vines Cover Brooklyn-port quarters Tracing the lines Of their riverfront boarders Right along Flushing The Whitman kids know Of the homes there left standing Like skulls in a row
Nobody remembers Derry down
They'll tear them to gravel Leaving only a road By those who unravel By silver by gold I sink in the graveyard Of these admirals’ homes Like a leaf in the river Tied to a stone
Nobody Remembers Derry down, boys Derry down Nobody Remembers