Storming the Bastille


We gather outside the Hotel de Ville
The air is thick with anger
The crowd masses
A loud bell tolls behind me

“To Arms, Citizens!”
Shrieks a voice
Followed by a deafening roar
As if from the belly of the revolution itself

We march to the Bastille
The King's dungeon
The symbol of hated despotism

No one can stop us now
I think to myself
De Launay's head will roll
We will free the innocent
We will restore the balance of the Nation
Unyielding, we will take what it rightfully ours

The soldiers open fire upon us
From atop the garrison
Yet we march on

Bodies fall
But they will never bring the revolution
To its knees

We reach the heavy door of the fortress
And, amidst a downpour of musket fire
Force our way into the great citadel

Once inside we come face to face with the guards of the Bastille
I take my bayonet and drive it into the body of one of them
He is the Ancien Regime
I am all of the people of Paris
And my bayonet is the terror of the revolution
Unleashed in the name of
Liberty

Finally, I reach the room where they keep the prisoners
I break down the door and am met by seven lonely convicts:
Four frauds
Two lunatics
And one young man who thinks he is the King of France