Where have all the pot banks gone?
What is happening to my city’s sons?
Men being laid off at the Shelton Bar,
Workers wondering in the pugging yard,
Nobody wants anymore our ceramic wares,
We’re a city living on yesteryears.
A land called China sells at half the cost,
No history, no finesses, no cares if they get lost,
Who cares if my city is being laid to rest?
Thousands of workers ending up desolate,
Factories and smog some are thankful they are gone,
But not the lifeblood of my city, the voiceless ones.
Where have all the pot banks gone?
Why! Tell that to my city’s sons.
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