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Charles Kerr

"The Internationale" (karaoke)

"The Internationale" (sheet music)


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 Industrial Union
Shall be the human race.
'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.

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

The law oppresses us and tricks us;
Wage systems drain our blood;
The rich are free from obligations;
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."

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

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 people's work are buried
In the strong coffers of a few;
In working for their restitution,
The workers only ask their due.

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

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

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

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