Oh what will people say,
When the rain washes it away,
All these deary towers,
All these wasted hours,
What will people say?

No more dirt and grime,
No more endless climb,
No need to turn to crime,
No need to sell your time,

Oh what will people say,
When concrete returns to clay,
And blooms with fields of flowers,
With the only shade from bowers?
What will people say?

No more sludge and slime,
No more shift-change chime
No longer past your prime,
No longer on enyzmes,

Oh what will people say,
When the smog breaks into day,
When all the world is ours,
And want no more devours,
What will people say?