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She mixes music and the sound of the cannon
Prophetic speeches and songs
In October in Moscow, yesterday in Warsaw
Above all, she loves the air of Paris
She sings of freedom
The Revolution
Just before you stop
The Revolution
Without pity or scruple, with all the audacity
Looks like a boy, she's a bitch
She's quite pretty, she even has a sense of humor
It's to suffocate you better that she makes love to you
It is said that she was born in
The Revolution
From a puddle on a pavement
The Revolution
All around the earth she has produced children
Who spit on their mother when they grow up
She is red, she is black of all colors
Messenger of hope and fear
She shouts brotherhood to you
The Revolution
Before shooting you
The Revolution
Whether it is called convention, or Soviet, or commune
It fills the prisons, the mass graves
In the morning troubadour, the same evening soldier
From Rosa Luxembourg to Guevara
She leaves you scorched earth
The Revolution
In the name of humanity
The Revolution
She will die standing, alone in the middle of the ruins
Fighting to the end as a heroine
Or grow old dreaming of the time of your youth
Among his followers, who became wise
Even when she is buried
The Revolution
We see her resurrected
The Revolution
Despite what people say, we would have to invent it
It's like a disease that restores health
Like bad dreams from which we emerge free
Like a storm bursting in the summer sky
You think she forgot you
The Revolution
But she sleeps, a bomb on her foot
The Revolution
The Revolution
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