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``` A whispered song once haunted Europe From fields to factories The birds, the mules, alike repeat

Почему поля мы трудимся Why is it that the fields we toil Принадлежит царю Belong to the tsar? Почему мы работаем до смерти Why is it that we work to death Ни за что, кроме обрезков For nothing but scraps?

From there it traveled near and far And the people there rejoiced Added verses of their own

为什么我们辛劳的果实 Why is it that the fruit of our toils 直接去找楼主 Go straight to the landlords 为什么他们可以坐 Why is it that they may sit 当我们几乎饿死的时候 While we nearly starve

But then a wealthy neighbor grew bothered by the noise And so enlisted his police To choke it into silence

Yet no matter how rich and strong the neighbors The singers, they are far more

So long as one man recalls the tune, For every windpipe silenced So will sing a hundred more. ```