(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 to the music
And we dance


Thousands are sailing
Across the Western Ocean
Where the hand of opportunity

Draws tickets in a lottery
Where e'er we go, we celebrate
The land that makes us refugees

From fear of Priests with empty plates
From guilt and weeping effigies
Now we dance to the music

And we dance