We March,
revolutionary lava, wedded
to scarlet flags
flailling over us all.
Our leader -
the Illillion-headed
Third International.
A surge of wills
against history's wall,
beats the Third
International.

We march.
The flood will never cease.
The waves of red armies know no end,
with the ring of red armies
to West
from East
girdling the earth,
by the poles we net
the nations to land.
The world is small.
Grow, expand,
Third International.

We march.
Workers of the world, give ear.
Revolution is marching.
The East turbulent strides.
Beyond Europe
dry-shod we shall cross the seas
and hang the red flag
from New York's heights.
In the new world
and the old world scarlet
will rise the Third
International.

We march.
Rise up, coloured colonies,
white slaves of empire -
stand.

The fight will decide -
shall the workers rule in peace
or the Entente's wars tear the land?
Which shall be heard?
The world is small,
to arms,
Third
International!

We march
to bring all men paradise.
If we fall,
millions more rise up
from below.
Earth's emblem will be
the sickle
on fire
with the hammer in the rainbow's bow.
Higher be heard,
mighty chorale,
long live
the Third
International.