The City of Light in the fog
The aeroplanes shade it
The parasols of the damsels caress the sun
The war knocks at the doors

The youth is mobilized
1914 year sung at the piano forte
The Belle Epoque turns its heels
The war knocks at the doors

A priest on a bicycle in the fields
The Sacré Coeur basilika takes the sun
God has deserted the Champs-Elysées,
The war knocks on the doors

Pierre Loti returned from Iceland
France has its fingers dipped in ink
The Dreyfusards read Poil de Carotte
The war knocks at the doors

The National Society of Music
Gives a concert for posterity
The Internationale is whispered
The war knocks at the doors

The art nouveau teases the souls
The Action française sets fire to the powder keg
The newspapers talk only about the Tour de France
The war knocks at the doors

A politician shows his fists
To the golds of the Palais-Bourbon
And the storm spits on Paris
The war knocks on the doors