Unless a man will overstep the mark,
He might as well stay at home.
Call me Gargoyle, Cyclops, Tatar,
Call me what you will, but this monster
Has the measure of the world,
And, like a crafty tailor, cut my suit
To fit. How else should a captain
Of revolution impress the world
Butt through the boldest action?
Insurrection is man’s very nature.
It is ogres such as I buy your freedom!
No pettifogging clerk ever won the mob.
My only sin is to love France too much,
Reckless in her service,
Risk all for her, even reason itself,
Because I had to hold her up
When she fell, and carry her free;
Whatever the loss of blood.
And now the loud bull is led out
To slaughter, too rich a prize to miss!
All I am is a voice, a voice in the night.
Should I condemn myself for excesses
Committed in good faith, for all?
Seeking to do justice, I have welcomed
Injustice in the door; fighting tyranny,
I have made myself its dupe.
The fear I scorn and abhor within
I have turned upon the world.
In the end I am sick of it all,
Sick of men and their passions,
Sick of liberty itself, our mistress,
Furious and impossible in her demands,
Goading us till we are traitors
To ourselves; there is no happy end
To this harvest we have begun.
The Revolution must punish dissent,
And one day we all become dissenters.
Enemies to be eliminated.
Now the fools make a religion
Of the nation, an idol of the people!
If they had my balls, they would not feel
The need of such pure souls!
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