| The wands of smoke are rising
|
| From the walls of the Bastille
|
| And through the streets of Paris
|
| Runs a sense of the unreal
|
| The Kings have all departed
|
| Their servants are nowhere
|
| We burned out all their mansions
|
| In the name of Robespierre
|
| And still we wait
|
| To see the day begin
|
| Our time is wasting in the wind
|
| Wondering why
|
| Wondering why, it echoes
|
| Through the lonely palace of Versailles
|
| Inside the midnight councils
|
| The lamps are burning low
|
| On you sit and talk all through the night
|
| But there’s just no place to go
|
| And Bonaparte is coming
|
| With his army from the South
|
| Marat your days are numbered
|
| And we live hand to mouth
|
| While we wait
|
| To see the day begin
|
| Our time is wasting in the wind
|
| Wondering why
|
| Wondering why, it echoes
|
| Through the lonely palace of Versailles
|
| The ghost of revolution
|
| Still prowls the Paris streets
|
| Down all the restless centuries
|
| It wonders incomplete
|
| It speaks inside the cheap red wine
|
| Of cafe summer nights
|
| Its red and amber voices
|
| Call the cars at traffic lights
|
| Why do you wait
|
| To see the day begin
|
| Your time is wasting in the wind
|
| Wondering why
|
| Wondering why, it echoes
|
| Through the lonely palace of Versailles
|
| Wondering why, it echoes
|
| Through the lonely palace of Versailles |