Paroles Ca Ira - Act I - Scene 2: Kings, Sticks, and Birds de Roger Waters

Roger Waters
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  • Chanson: Ca Ira - Act I - Scene 2: Kings, Sticks, and Birds
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Textes et Paroles de Ca Ira - Act I - Scene 2: Kings, Sticks, and Birds



Ringmaster:
Ladies and Gentlemen
Imagine a bird on song in a tree
An ordinary bird like you or like me
Imagine some ruffian happening by
And beating him within an inch of his life

Then a priest from some denomination
Witnessing this abomination
Blesses not the bird but the beast
The Unknown Soldier appears on the field
And takes the bird's feathers to put on his shield
Then a powerful judge from the high court
Decrees that the birds really ought
Not be allowed to sing in the trees
But then one day
Some of the priests and soldiers and judges
Putting aside some old worn grudges
Changes their minds and the birds sang again
It was the Revolution
The Revolution is a story of birds
Of sticks and stones and bushes and bones

Chorus:
A story of now, a story of then
A story of women, a story of me

Ringmaster:
A story of everything to come
Of everything under the sun

"Honest Bird, Simple Bird"

Marie Marianne:
Honest bird, simple bird
Just longing to be spreading the word
Feeling the rain, feeling the sun
But your time has not come
Your song is not heard
Honest bird

Chorus:
Singing is forbidden in the fig tree
Singing is forbidden in the olive tree
Singing is forbidden in the pear tree
No singing in the olive or the fig or the pear tree
No more singing in the fig tree
No more singing in the pear tree
Someone's hanging in the olive
There's someone hanging in the olive tree
Singing in the fig tree, that's forbidden
Singing in the pear tee, that's forbidden
Singing in the olive, that's forbidden
Someone's hanging in the olive tree
Someone's hanging in the olive tree

Marie Marianne:
You come to earth, you have no choice
Could be a seamstress or serving girl
Or butcher's boy
Could be a dead beat
Or one of the elite
Maybe the bird ill find his voice
And make a choice
From all the wheat and all the chaff
It's the knowledge that you glean
Makes you what you'll be
And the knowledge that you lack
A rod for your own back
Leaves you in purgatory
Honest bird, simple bird

"I want to be King"

Chorus:
Make your choice, find your voice

I want to be King, Queen, Courtesan, Dauphin
I want to be Cardinal, Capitaine, King of Kings
I want to be God

Solo Children's Choir:
I want to be King
I want to be the Queen
I want to be the Courtesan
I want to be the Dauphin
I want to be the Cardinal
I want to be the Capitaine
I want to be the king of Kings
I want to be God!

I am a great big pig
I am the King of France
His wife likes to dance
I am the Church of Rome
I stand behind the throne
I am the public purse
They think I'm bottomless
I am the public accountants
I'm in a bit of a mess
I am the American War
They say I'm rather greedy
I am the national debt
I'm big, but needy
I am the noble, I am the clergy
I am the ordinary man
I am hungry
I am starving
This cake needs re-carving

Chorus:
I'm the, I'm the, ravening wolf
I'm the, I'm the, heart of thorns
It's the end of the shield of divine law
I'm the oak tree
I am the columbine
I am the pig searching for truffles
And I am the peacock whose feathers are ruffled

"Let us break all the shields"

Troublemaker:
Let us break all the shields
And soil the ermine
Take the oak, and the olive tree
Make their philosophy our own
The pigs eat the acorns
The rich eat the pork
The poor eat the olives and spit out the stone

Revolutionary Priest:
All we ask is a little tax from the nobility
The spat out stone will grow in time into an olive tree
We will smoke our pork over a fire of basilic

Troublemaker and Priest:
And plant the laurel tree
To make, to make, a wreath, a wreath
A wreath to plant the Republique

Revolutionary Priest:
We will smoke our pork upon the pyre of privilege
The flames of castles burning will dance from ridge to ridge
We'll break all the shields
Spit out all the stones
Make the oak and olive tree's philosophy our own
The pigs eat acorns
The rich eat the pork
The poor eat the olives and spit out the stones

Chorus:
We will smoke our pork over a fire of basilic
We'll plant the laurel tree
To make our laurel wreaths
A wreaths to crown the Republique

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