Leo Ferre Les Anarchistes

They aren't the one percent, but believe me, they exist
Mostly Spaniards, who knows why
You'd think that in Spain they just don't understand them
They are the anarchists

They've gathered it all
Of insults and jokes
And the more they shouted
The more breath they had
They've locked in their chests
A desperate dream
And the corroded souls
By fabulous ideas

They aren't the one percent, but believe me, they exist
Children of too little or of obscure origin
You hardly ever see them except when they scare you
They are the anarchists

A thousand times they've died
As indifferent as can be
With love in their fists
For too much or for nothing
They stubbornly threw
Their lives to waste
But they've struck so hard
That they will strike again

They aren't the one percent, but believe me, they exist
And if you're kicking ass, there's a start to be made
Whoever hits the streets, don't forget
They are the anarchists

They have black flags
Over their Hope
And melancholy
As their dance partner
Knives to cut
The Bread of Friendship
And clean blood
To wash away the filth