[Intro]

[verse]

Morning comes with rain on cobbles,

Canvas roofs and wooden stalls,

Someone's calling out the prices,

Someone's leaning by the walls.

Apples, onions, pots and brushes,

Voices drifting through the square,

Every face is known to someone,

Every day begins from there.

Round and round the market goes,

Through the rain and through the cold,

Trading stories, trading pennies,

Trading things both new and old.

Though the years keep moving onward,

Though the town begins to change,

You'll still find the market standing,

Much the same and yet not the same.