De mördades fria republik
Dan BerglundAn essay for a singable English version of the song | |
THE FREE REPUBLIC OF THOSE MURDERED | THE FREE REPUBLIC OF THE MURDERED |
I ate my porridge and read the paper, | I ate up my porridge and read my newspaper, |
took my bag and kissed my missis goodbye. | Then seized my workbag and kissed my love goodbye, |
And in the dark I left my trail in the deep snow | The snow was so deep, the dark night saw my trail |
on the road I had been walking for thirteen long years. | Along the way I had been going for thirteen endless years. |
On that day the wind was in the north. | That day was swept by so strong a north wind, |
We were welding on a deck thirty meters above the ground | Doing our deck weldwork 100 feet up high |
when I heard a boom and a voice shouting: »Sven!« | I heard a crash and someone shouting: -Sven! |
And everything disappeared in blood and fire and it was night again. | And then blood and fire, and the night fell again. |
Then I woke up in a coffin of spruce | A sprucewood coffin was the place I woke up in, |
and thought all hell must be loose. | I thought I was in hell, that's all I tell you friends. |
And my missis was weeping her face pale like death | My love was weeping, her face was white as death, |
and the priest begging to his god out of breath. | the priest was praying his god with his nose turned up. |
Then I was lowered into my simple dwelling | Then I was lowered into my simple, bare grave, |
and in its loneliness I started to twiddle my thumbs. | I lay and rolled my thumbs in my quiet loneliness; |
Suddenly I heard a voice: »Comrade, dear deceased, | I heard a voice saying: - Comrade, dear deceased, |
welcome to The Free Republic Of Those Murdered.« | The Free Republic of the Murdered bids you welcome. |
And there, in the midst of stones, roots, sand and dirt, | And there among stones, roots, pebbles, sand and dirt |
rows of people were lying, the earth was full | People lay in long rows, the whole earth was full |
of women and men who had once been working | Of men and women, old workers of times past, |
and who rose up singing a song that made the earth shake: | The earth was shaken, trembling as they all rose up and sang: |
»We were murdered by the Swedish industry. | “We all were murdered by the Swedish industry, |
Five hundred of us each year are butchered like pigs | Five hundred of us per year, slaughtered like pigs |
in factories that drain our blood. | In factories where our blood's drain'd from our veins, |
And the worst of all murderers is Jacob Wallenberg. *) | And the worst butcher's name is Jacob Wallenberg. |
We were the ones to keep his factories running, | We, the workers, kept all his plants in nonstop run, |
it was we who fell and whose bodies were buried. | The pay we got was death, a burial and a grave. |
We bowed to the hangman and filled his stomach, | Bowing to a butcher's feet we made him rich and fat |
while socialists and union men were busy to shine his shoes. | While socialists and unionmen rushed to shine his shoes. |
Now we are demanding revenge, hear our bitter cry | We're craving for revenge, hear now our bitter cry |
sounding from each factory floor, | Resounding through the floors in every factory, |
carried by whispering winds and the humming of tall pines, | Whispering with the wind, humming with the pine trees |
and requiring you to do your duty and revenge us. | And telling you to take revenge, your duty to fulfill. |
And from the machines on factory floors we sing to you: | Through the machines, you can hear us sing for you: |
Study Marx and Lenin and unite! | Let's act for revolution, for union and dignity, |
Class against class it shall be! | Class against class, that's our struggle, our fight, |
And silently we will raise up to back you.« | We'll stand up in silence and back you by your side. |
* ) Jacob Wallenberg (1892 - 1980) was a banker and one of the most influential figures in Swedish business life. |