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 The Internationale

(Hymn of the revolutionary working-class of all nations)

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.

'Tis the final conflict, Let each stand in his place, The International Party Shall be the human race.

Behold them seated in their glory, The kings of mine and rail and soil! What would you read in all their story But how they plundered toil? Fruits of the people's work are buried In the strong coffers of a few; In voting for their restitution The men will only ask their due. (Refrain)

Toilers from shops and fields united, The party we of all who work; The earth belongs to us, the people, No room here for the shirk.