Текст песни Marat / Sade - Judy Collins

Four years after the revolution
And the old king's execution
Four years after, remember how
Those courtiers took their final bow

String up every aristocrat
Out with the priests and let then live on their fat

Four years after we started fighting
Marat keeps on with his writing
Four years after the Bastille fell
He still recalls the old battle yell

Down with all of the ruling class
Throw all the generals out on their ass

Why do they have the gold?
Why do they have the power?
Why, why, why, why, why?
Do they have the friends at the top?
Why do they have the jobs at the top?

We've got nothing, always had nothing
Nothing but holes and millions of them
Living in holes, dying in holes
Holes in our bellies and holes in our clothes

Marat, we're poor
And the poor stay poor
Marat, don't make us wait any more
We want our rights and we don't care how
We want a revolution now

Four years he fought and he fought unafraid
Sniffing down traitors, by traitors betrayed
Marat in the courtroom, Marat underground
Sometimes the otter and sometimes the hound

Fighting all the gentry and fighting every priest
The business man, the bourgeois, the military beast
Marat always ready to stifle every scheme
Of the sons of the ass licking dying regime

We've got new generals, our leaders are new
They sit and they argue and all that they do
Is sell their own colleagues and ride upon their backs
Or jail them, or break them, or give them all the ax

Screaming in language that no one understand
Of the rights that we grabbed with our own bleeding hands
When we wiped out the bosses and stormed through the wall
Of the prison they told us would outlast us all

Marat, we're poor
And the poor stay poor
Marat, don't make us wait any more
We want our rights and we don't care how
We want a revolution now

Poor old Marat, they hunt you down
The bloodhounds are sniffing all over the town
Just yesterday your printing press was smashed
Now they're asking your home address

Poor, old Marat, in you we trust
You work till your eyes turn as red as rust
But while you write they're on your track
The boots mount the staircase, the doors thrown back

Poor, old Marat, in you we trust
You work till your eyes turn as red as rust
Poor, old Marat, we trust in you

Marat, we're poor
And the poor stay poor
Marat, don't make us wait any more
We want our rights and we don't care how
We want a revolution now