The sun goes down on courthouse and mainstreet. The grocer has his borsch and says as often, `This soup the emperor himself could eat.'
His wife beams like a child given a treat. They go to bed, wake up, but soon, again, The sun goes down on courthouse and mainstreet. Elsewhere, worked up into a righteous heat, The postman thinks that scheming Jews will poison The soup the emperor himself will eat;
While Beggar Breadhead sees the worthies meet Out at the town's small brothel, but only when The sun goes down on courthouse and mainstreet.
And war will sweep all this away complete - No soup left for the grocer's meal, and even No soup the emperor himself could eat.
All turned into nostalgia. Their words repeat With longing in their children's children's children, The sun goes down on courthouse and mainstreet. `This soup the emperor himself could eat.'
