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Sailing down my dirty stream |
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Still I love it and I'll keep the dream |
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That some day, though maybe not this year |
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My Hudson River will once again run clear |
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It starts high in the mountains of the north |
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Crystal clear and icy trickles forth |
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With just a few floating wrappers of chewing gum |
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Dropped by some hikers to warn of things to come |
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At Glens Falls, five thousand honest hands |
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Work at the consolidated paper plant |
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Five million gallons of waste a day |
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Why should we do it any other way? |
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Down the valley one million toilet chains |
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Find my Hudson so convenient place to drain |
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And each little city says, "Who, me? |
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Do you think that sewage plants come free?" |
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Out in the ocean they say the water's clear |
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But I live right at Beacon here |
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Half way between the mountains and sea |
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Tacking to and fro, this thought returns to me |
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Well it's Sailing up my dirty stream |
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Still I love it and I'll dream |
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That some day, though maybe not this year |
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My Hudson and my country will run clear |
