art bergmann - la mort de l'ancien regime كلمات الأغنية
see the head rising up over stadium fields
hear the cheers from the stands
you don’t hear the jeers
you don’t feel the fear
of the girls
at the touch of the dead man’s hand
see the smoke rising up from foreign fields
the bodies won’t heal
an endless distraction
billion dollar abstraction
it’s just the touch of the old man’s hand
the death of the old regime
we make our own happy unholy day
we throw our own little pitchfork parade
we hang the king with the guts of his priest
c’est la vie to the old folks
merci monsieur guillotine
heads will roll down pennsylvania avenue
throw the kids under the bus
collateral damage never makes a fuss
euphemisms for blood and guts
at the touch of the dead man’s hand
at the death of the old regime
we make our own happy unholy day…
you’ll all be singin’ with me
sing it out
righteously!
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