Since my arrival, nearly a week after the beginning of the largest protest to draw world attention since the 1956 uprising, the crowd in Parliament Square had diminished in quality and quantity.

Gone were the charred remains of autos whose flames, like the air raids of World War II, had lit the skies of Budapest on the first night of the demonstrations.Gone too were most of the cameras, technicians and reporters that had descended upon this ancient city on the Danube a week earlier.

What was left resembled the remnants of a three day rock concert. Radicals had been replaced with rock and roll. The crowd, when unable to shout at government officials peering out of windows and doorways of Parliament, with sufficient enthusiasm, had to rely on encouragement from blaring boys in the band or speakers who seemed to be using the occasion to address personal grievances.To add to the experience, protestors could see themselves on a large screen to the right of the stage where the vision of protest tried to inspire more protest; a flame feeding on itself.

While attention focused on the flag waving throng at the front, and the police opposite, grown weary of these nightly visitations, the less inspired and the curious, milled about the center and the edges waiting to see what might yet happen. Free bread, onions, eggs, beer and bottled water were made available to those who shuffled passively in line, like their elders during the Communist era. Even the souvenir sellers showed up, providing flags to wave and ribbons to save. Tee shirts were not yet available.

And the cause of all this angst? Well, it seems that Hungarian politicians are not unlike their counterparts around the world; they lie.They lied about the election.They lied about the state of the economy.They lied to a country struggling to build a western style economy after decades of Soviet rule; an economy that had to meet strict guidelines before admission to the European Union.To their credit, they admitted lying.To their surprise, the people did not take it lying down. But nor were they fully roused.

Erika is a talented young woman who spends mornings on the old castle hilltop of Buda opposite Pest on the east side of the Danube. She is an aspiring artist and sells her watercolors to the busloads of tourists who visit the restored buildings there."Someday, I'll be famous!", she mused. She too sensed the lack of real fire in the spirit of the demonstrators.

"There has to be blood", she said, in a voice as soft as the pastels that dominate her work."Without blood, there will be no change."