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.

Refrain

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

We want no condescending saviors 
To rule us from a judgment hall;
We workers ask not for their favors; 
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.

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 the strong coffers of a few;
In working for their restitution 
The men will only ask their due.