There's a tombstone in a open field,
Close by an old ghost town.
The epitaph's been weather- blown away.

There's a bell tower where petitions peeled,
Its been half torn down.
But it must of softened every soul that came to pray.

There's a schoolhouse full of broken glass
And wounded walls.
The rusty swings like derelicts sleeping in the weeds.

There's a picture, graduation class.
Staring down deserted halls.
"THE HOPE OF 41" is what it reads.

Its just as if some restless wind blew
Their dreams away;
Far away.

Its just as if those dreams had never been.

But O' I feel their ghosts surround me now.
I hear them say;
"We've come back home to dream those dreams again".

May all your souls be free to dream again.