It was a Friday in April 1986
The day that the nightmare began
When the dust it rained down on our buildings and streets
And entered our bedrooms at noon
Touched the grass and the streets, bicycles, cars
Beds books and picture frames too
We stood around, helpless, confused
Nobody knew what to do

At two o'clock on Sunday the buses arrived
A fleet of a thousand or more
We were ordered to be on our way
Not knowing what lay in store
Some of our citizens fled in dismay
And looked for a good place to hide
Four o'clock came and the last bus pulled out
T'was the day our lovely town died

And the shirts sheets and handkerchiefs crack in the wind
On the window ledge the withering plants
And the Ladas and Volga's are parked by the door
And the bike's in its usual stance

Our evergreen trees lie withered and drooped
They've poisoned our fertile land
The streets speak a deafening silence
Nothing stirs but the sand
A visit back home is so eerie today
A modern Pompeii on view
To see all the old shops and the Forest Hotel
And the Promyet Cinema too
The mementos we gathered were all left behind
Our Photos, letters and cards
The toys of our children untouchable now
Toy soldiers left standing on guard

So fare thee well Pripyat, my home and my soul
Your sorrow can know no relief
A terrifying glimpse of the future you show
Your children all scattered like geese
The clothes line still sways but the owners long gone
As the nomadic era returns
The question in black and white blurred into grey
The answer is too easy to learn