The sparrow, bedraggled, looks up through the rain
And dreams of a little more grain
The peacock, plump in his place in the sun
Ignores the sound of the distant guns
Their thunder falls upon deaf ears
The peacock never sniffs the air
He fails to see that a starvation diet brings
The scent of riot on the breeze
The King; The State; La France
Each of the above must with regret cut off all payment
The cupboard is bare
The State of France lies in disrepair
The Bishops hide the grain; to the attics it's sent
If everyone is hungry, tell me, who can be content?
Altogether now!
We hand out pamphlets, we join a club
We shout out slogans that we make up
We thumb our noses, at those above
We hand out pamphlets, we join a club
We join a club, a safety net
But it's more like a gin trap that's been carefully set
We write what we can on the cow's flayed hide
Our grievances are noted and then brushed to one side
But the pain we feel keeps us alive
Bushes and bones and sticks and stones
Now, then, women and men
In Manosque the bishops get what they deserve
Stoned to death and we retrieve the grain from their reserves
Searching for our courage in... (3x)
...this folly
|
