| I was driving down Ninth Avenue
|
| As the sky was getting dark
|
| Didn’t have nothin' else to do
|
| So I kept on riding to Battery Park
|
| I stepped out in the damp and misty night
|
| As the fog was rolling in
|
| Man said, «Last boat leaving tonight
|
| Is the boat for Ellis Island»
|
| As my feet touched solid ground
|
| I felt a chill run down my spine
|
| I could almost hear the sound
|
| Of thousands pushing through the lines
|
| Mothers and bewildered wives
|
| That sailed across the raging sea
|
| Others running for their lives
|
| To the land of opportunity
|
| Down on Ellis Island
|
| «What is this strange paradise?»
|
| They must’ve wondered through their cries and moans
|
| After all they’ve sacrificed
|
| Their faith, their families, friends and homes
|
| Then on the Inspection Stairs
|
| They were counted out or counted in
|
| Frozen while the inspectors stared
|
| Down on Ellis Island
|
| Now me I only stumbled in
|
| Just to wander around that empty hall
|
| Where someone else’s fate had been
|
| Decided in no time at all
|
| And cases filled with hats and clothes
|
| And the belongings of those who journeyed far
|
| They’re strange reminders I suppose
|
| Of where we’re from and who we are
|
| But as the boat pulled off the shore
|
| I could see the fog was lifting
|
| And lights I never seen before
|
| Were shining down on Ellis Island
|
| Shining down on Ellis Island |