In York there is a castle, br Its name is Clifford's Tower. br Around the hill the traffic swirls br And passes hour by hour. br br In springtime flowers are blooming br To make a rich array. br The old grey stones are rich with light br And turn the night to day. br br There was a time within the walls br When hatred lit the fuse; br The burning mob rejoiced to hear br The cries of slaughtered Jews. br br When Autumn leaves are falling, br And flowers are faded quite, br The ghosts of Clifford's Tower br Keep vigil through the night. br br Summer time or Winter - br Whichever you may choose - br Still faintly in the distance sounds br The lamentation of the Jews.