The Internationale

 

Arise, ye prisoners of starvation! Arise, ye wretched of the earth!
For justice thunders condemnation, A better world’s in birth.
No more tradition’s chains shall bind us,
Arise, ye slaves no more in thrall! The earth shall rise on new foundations,
We have been naught, we shall be all.

‘Tis the final conflict,
Let each stand in his place.
The Internationale
Shall be the human race.
‘Tis the final conflict,
Let each stand in his place.
The Internationale
Shall be the human race.

We want no condescending saviors to rule us from their judgement hall.
We workers ask not for their favours, let us consult for all,
To make the thief disgorge his booty, to free the spirit from its cell.
We must ourselves decide our duty, We must decide and do it well.

Toilers from shops and fields united, The union of all who work.
The earth belongs to us the workers, No room here for those who shirk.
How many on our flesh have fattened, But if the bloody birds of prey
Shall vanish from the sky some morning, The golden sunlight will stay.