L'Internationale
The song of the First and Second International, it was written by a transport worker after the Paris Commune was crushed by the French government. The song was later used as the first Soviet Union National Anthem and Anthem of the (Third) Communist International, until 1944 when the latter was disolved.
Written by: Eugène Pottier - Paris, June 1871 The original lyrics in French: mp3 |
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Debout! les damnés de la terre Debout! les forçats de la faim La raison tonne en son cratère, C'est l'éruption de la fin. Du passé faisons table rase Foule esclave, debout! debout! Le monde va changer de base Nous ne sommes rien, soyons tout! Refrain Il n'est pas de sauveurs suprêmes: Hideux dans leur apothéose, Les rois nous saoulaient de fumées. Ouvriers, paysans, nous sommes |
Adaptation of Charles H. Kerr translation from the original, for The IWW Songbook (34th Edition) Arise ye pris'ners 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. Refrain: 'Tis the final conflict Let each stand in his place The International Union shall be the human race. We want no condescending saviors to rule us from their judgement hall We workers ask not for their favors Let us consult for all. To make the theif disgorge his booty To free the spirit from its cell We must ourselves decide our duty We must decide and do it well. The law oppresses us and tricks us, the wage slave system drains our blood; The rich are free from obligation, The laws the poor delude. Too long we've languished in subjection, Equality has other laws; "No rights", says she "without their duties, No claims on equals without cause." Behold them seated in their glory The kings of mine and rail and soil! What have you read in all their story, But how they plundered toil? Fruits of the workers' toil are buried In strongholds of the idle few In working for their restitution the men will only claim their due. We toilers from all fields united Join hand in hand with all who work; The earth belongs to us, the workers, No room here for the shirk. How many on our flesh have fattened! But if the norsome birds of prey Shall vanish from the sky some morning The blessed sunlight then will stay. |
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