Boeijen Frank
A Summer at the End of the Twentieth Century
City in Revolt
Music sounds from behind the barricades
While power meets desperately
Everything is darkened
/>On the streets of the city
And the middle classes blind their shop windows
While soldier after soldier gathers
In the dark on the edge of the city
These are the eighties
And not on the square
Of Heavenly Peace
And not in Tehran or in Prague
But here in Holland in a city in revolt
A thousand voices sing in unison
The song of despair
A thousand sticks beat to a rhythm
Through a frozen night
Stones fall from the sky
On the shields
Of the slaves of power
You hear cheering and wailing sirens
And who hasn't understood it yet
You're fighting your own army
These are the eighties
And not in the Square of Heavenly Peace
And not in Santiago
Not in Warsaw
But here in Holland
In a city in revolt
A thousand voices sing in unison
/>The song of despair
A thousand sticks beat to a rhythm
Throughout a frozen night
And perhaps this battle will be lost
In a storm of brute force
But no nation has ever been conquered
That resists to the last man
These are the eighties
In a city in revolt
Fighted with tear gas
With the gun in hand the attack
And the mind at infinity
Puppets of authority
Against a defenseless enemy
In a city in revolt
A thousand voices sing in unison
The song of despair
A thousand sticks beat to a rhythm
Through a frozen night
And perhaps this battle will be lost
In a storm of brutal violence
But no people has ever been conquered
That resists to the last man
Resists to the last man