The Anarchist March

Let's sing a song under sounding blows,
Under explosions and bullets, under blazing flames,
Under the Black Banner of gigantic battle,
Under alarming sounds of the calling bugle.

Tear down, brothers, palaces and temples,
Let's break the chains, tear down the crowns;
Enough submission and slavish love—
We'll drown the sufferings of the people in blood!

Awaken, arouse, the will of the masses
At the Commune's groans and Ravaschol's call,
At the clamoring of revenge for the perished masses,
Under the bourgeoisie oppression and hangman's knotting toll.

They are many, countless, suffering victims,
Murdered on the headsman's block, perished in prisons;
It's true, they are many, serving you
Who have fallen in the heroic class struggle.

Their moans call from under the skies of Russia,
Their groans call, like whispering voices,
Echoing over Paris, Siberia's dullness,
As they call to valiant battle. …
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