Marat/Sade

Judy Collins: Marat/Sade


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 up
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 businessman
the bourgeois
the military beast
Marat always ready
to stifle every scheme
Of the sons of the
asslicking 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 understands
of the rights that we grab
with our own bleeding hands
when we wiped out the bosses
and stormed through the wall
of the prison you 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 their asking
your home address
poor old Marat
in you we trust
you work till your eyes
turn as red a 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 a 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