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LYRICS:
Son of Corsica, born apart,
The glory of France seared on my heart,
Though my 51 years seem short to you,
My time was not mine,
And there’s nothing we can do.
Tuscan nobility,
Thrust from my home.
Made my own legacy,
Built my own throne.
Freedom financial,
Fearsome fighters,
Lighting the flame of my empire.
Victory, dominion,
Til Waterloo.
The Old Guard defeated,
There’s nothing we can do.
There’s nothing,
There’s nothing.
Brought peace to the masses,
No sovereignty.
My will made their fortune,
My code bound them to me.
Exile and infamy,
Were what I was due.
My kingdom, an island,
There’s nothing we can do.
My return to power,
Was very short lived.
The captors called,
But my wife never did.
A glorious homecoming,
But a cut-short coup.
Defeated, I retreated,
There’s nothing we can do.
There’s nothing,
There’s nothing.
There’s nothing,
There’s nothing.
There’s nothing,
There’s nothing.
I died on St Helena,
Forsaken by friends.
Let history judge my worth in the end.
From an unmarked grave to a glorious tomb,
My story has ended.
There’s nothing we can do.
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