A Thousand Years

The Burgher banged his fist on the table

Red face glowing with pride

“We'll rise,” he cried, “as soon as we're able

Avenging the ones who died

No more the hunted

No more the mouse

No more the quivering prey

The masters are driving the slaves from the house

The masters are coming to stay”

The Burgher dipped his bread in the gravy

Splattering his silken tie

Nachmal the Wehrmacht

Nachmal the Navy

Nachmal the thundering sky

Once more the stadium rocking with cheers

Once more the torchlight parade

Away with the cowering dog-bitten years

Away with the humble charade

“A thousand years

The tears of the weak for our wine

A thousand years

We'll pluck them like fruit from the vine

Ah, they fed us and clothed us and handed us weapons as well

But give us a leader

We'll follow him down into hell”

The Burgher spilled his wine on the table

Staggering out of his chair

“We'll rise,” he cried, “as soon as we're able

Stroking the young man fair

The English are finished

The French are fools

The Russians have China to fear

The Yanks holler ‘commie’, and follow their rules

When the time for the rising is here”

The young man's eyes were fiery and glowing

The Burgher's hand in his own

“We'll rise,” he cried, “the movement is growing

We'll march on a road of bones

They're coming from Egypt

They're coming from Hess

They're coming from Argentine

We'll march over Russia; we'll march to the west

We'll show them what conquest can mean”

“A thousand years

The tears of the weak for our wine

A thousand years

We'll pluck them like fruit from the vine

Ah, they fed us and clothed us and handed us weapons as well

But give us a leader, by God

And we'll see them in hell”