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They advanced stubbornly, fists in their pockets
They smiled thinking of Gavroche
They were sinking into the wind
And always, they hoped in the east that the day
Would come one day
When will it be day, comrade?
I always hear this question
That they asked each other comrades
While an old cruiser in the harbor
Was shouting at the top of his lungs
It's for good
They advanced with great difficulty, with great strides
They were coming from the wood war
They hoped for sun and love
They supported each other, lifelong friends
Closed ranks
When will it be day, comrade?
I always hear this question
That they asked each other comrades
While an old cruiser in the harbor
Was shouting at the top of his lungs
It's for good
When autumn returns and the great evenings
When the night is longer and darker
I remember one evening in Petrograd
Where the ancients searched for each other in the dark
Oh, guys
When will it be day, comrade?
I always hear this question
That they asked each other comrades
While an old cruiser in the harbor
Was shouting at the top of his lungs
Revolution
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