Nous le rêve de révolution
So it’s may now and everyone is packing up
And leavin’ home or going to find a new one.
We have our journals wrapped up in suede bags
That rustle around with Mao’s little red book
And a tattered copy of Orwell’s 1984.
We are suspicious and paranoid.
We are young and idealistic.
Our poetry lingers on us like stall perfume
After a night on the town.
We are brutal in the way we learn,
Demanding and inspiring.
We move only when the rent is too high
And its easy to leave because we are purist.
At night I only see the smoke of cigarettes
And cryptic revolutionaries,
Rum in one hand Marx in the other.
What we have is drive, a dance and calling.
Youth
Intrigue
Determination
All this fades soon enough.
All this is to important.
Rapture and servitude.
The children of this house of thought.
The makers of this density.
Sex and literature,
Red wine and cigars,
Shoes and dresses,
Flowers and radio.
We are actors .
We are writers.
We are students.
We are change.
And leavin’ home or going to find a new one.
We have our journals wrapped up in suede bags
That rustle around with Mao’s little red book
And a tattered copy of Orwell’s 1984.
We are suspicious and paranoid.
We are young and idealistic.
Our poetry lingers on us like stall perfume
After a night on the town.
We are brutal in the way we learn,
Demanding and inspiring.
We move only when the rent is too high
And its easy to leave because we are purist.
At night I only see the smoke of cigarettes
And cryptic revolutionaries,
Rum in one hand Marx in the other.
What we have is drive, a dance and calling.
Youth
Intrigue
Determination
All this fades soon enough.
All this is to important.
Rapture and servitude.
The children of this house of thought.
The makers of this density.
Sex and literature,
Red wine and cigars,
Shoes and dresses,
Flowers and radio.
We are actors .
We are writers.
We are students.
We are change.