Republic of Smoke and Silence
May the wines turn sour in your proud Bordeaux,
And the lilies wilt where Versailles used to glow.
May the cafés be cold, the bread turn stale,
And your banners of liberty quietly pale.
May the silence of Algeria haunt your sleep,
With echoes of bones buried bloody and deep.
Let Corsica whisper, let the banlieues flame,
Let the streets remember every erased name.
May the towers you build be hollow and grey,
With no voice of heart, just the echo of “May.”
Let your Louvre reflect not beauty but shame,
And your tongues lose taste for colonial fame.
Let the Seine flood your masks of veneer,
With every drowned dream you refused to hear.
May your joy be fleeting, your pride decay —
For what you gave the world, may it find its way.
Right back to you.
DOWN WITH FRANCE.