On the streets of Paris the children dance
in the boots
their mothers made
And they don’t remember, and they don’t care for
the songs
their fathers played.
In the shops of London the children carry
the wealth of
empires past
And they're not expected to understand
that an empire
does not last.
Streaming down the boulevards
dressed in yellow, green and
red
And the dancing children they don’t remember
the things they’ve
only just said
In the halls of Moscow the vodka flows
like the Russian
Nadsat’s tears
And the gray December of ’42
seems to last for a million
years.
Rome and Brussels and Amsterdam
with their knights and rooks
and queens.
And their dancing children who don’t remember
the things
they’ve only just seen.
On the streets of Paris the children dance
in the boots
their mothers made
And they don’t remember and they don’t care for
And they don’t remember and they don’t care for
the songs
their fathers played.
