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The fields wounded by so much shrapnel,
The peoples bleeding from so much pain,
And the peasants over the battle,
To destroy traitorous fascism.
Leaving the plough lying on the ground,
Taking the rifle to fight,
We are marching joyfully to the trenches,
So that in Spain there is freedom.
We are the peasants,
Today we are the soldiers.
Forward!
Our rifles shout,
Our ploughs shout,
Forward!
Forward! Forward!
The blood that runs brave daily
Has to drown one day in its storm
The enemies of the proletariat,
And the enemies of our unity.
The day of our victory will come;
Peace will walk around the world,
Workshops and fields singing the glory
Of those who fell for freedom.
We are the peasants,
Today we are the soldiers.
Forward!
Our rifles shout,
Our ploughs shout,
Forward!
Forward! Forward!