LInternationale The International by Eugène Pottier (4 October 1816, Paris – 6 November 1887, Paris), French revolutionary socialist, poet, and transport worker. Stand up, damned of the Earth Stand up, prisoners of starvation Reason thunders in its volcano This is the eruption of the end. Of the past let us make a clean slate Enslaved masses, stand up, stand up. The world is about to change its foundation We are nothing, let us be all. There are no supreme saviours Neither God, nor Caesar, nor tribune. Producers, let us save ourselves, Decree the common salvation. So that the thief expires, So that the spirit be pulled from its prison, Let us fan our forge ourselves Strike the iron while it is hot. The State oppresses and the law cheats. Tax bleeds the unfortunate. No duty is imposed on the rich; The rights of the poor is an empty phrase. Enough languishing in custody! Equality wants other laws: No rights without duties, she says, Equally, no duties without rights. Hideous in their apotheosis The kings of the mine and of the rail. Have they ever done anything other Than steal work? Inside the safeboxes of the gang, What work had created melted. By ordering that they give it back, The people want only their due. The kings made us drunk with fumes, Peace among us, war to the tyrants! Let the armies go on strike, Stocks in the air, and break ranks. If they insist, these cannibals On making heroes of us, They will know soon that our bullets Are for our own generals. Workers, peasants, we are The great party of labourers. The earth belongs only to men; The idle will go to reside elsewhere. How much of our flesh have they consumed? But if these ravens, these vultures Disappear one of these days, The sun will shine forever. This is the final struggle, Let us group together, and tomorrow! The Internationale, Will be the human race! youtube/watch?v=kB9wELkGn9c
Posted on: Tue, 24 Jun 2014 07:01:59 +0000
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