Låttexter
I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every voice of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice in every ban,
The mind forged manacles I hear.
How the chimney sweeper's cry,
Every blackening church appalls,
And the hapless soldier's sigh,
Runs in blood down palace walls.
But most through midnight streets I hear,
How the youthful harlot's curse,
Blasts the new born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
(I'm gonna take you through the streets of London,
A city on the brink of revolution,
All I'm seeing is pain and destitution,
I'm gonna take you to the city of London.
I'm gonna take you through the streets of London,
A city on the brink of revolution,
All I'm seeing is pain and destitution,
I'm gonna take you to the city of London)