Song written in 1943 in
London, which quite quickly became the gathering song of the French
resistance, but obviously it wasn't sung that often in public.
Fast forward to April
2002. In
Brussels, Belgium, like in many French cities, protest marches against the rise of
fascism. This is one of the songs we sang. I think we were trying to show that
THEY are not the
resistance fighters fighting against the
arab invaders. They are the
nazis.
LE CHANT DES PARTISANS
Ami, entends-tu le vol noir des corbeaux sur la plaine ?
Ami, entends-tu le bruit sourd du pays qu'on enchaîne?
Ohé partisans, ouvriers et paysans, c'est l'alarme!
Ce soir l'ennemi connaîtra le prix du sang et des larmes.
Montez de la mine, descendez des collines, camarades,
Sortez de la paille les fusils, la mitraille, les grenades;
Ohé Francs tireurs, à la balle et au couteau tirez vite!
Ohé saboteur, attention à ton fardeau dynamite!
C'est nous qui brisons les barreaux des prisons, pour nos frères,
La haine à nos trousses, et la faim qui nous pousse, la misère.
Il est des pays où les gens aux creux des lits font des rêves
Ici, nous, vois-tu, nous on marche et nous on tue nous on crève
Ici chacun sait ce qu'il veut, ce qu'il fait quand il passe;
Ami, si tu tombes, un ami sort de l'ombre à ta place.
Demain du sang noir séchera au grand soleil sur les routes
Sifflez, compagnons, dans la nuit la liberté nous écoute.
Translation :
Friend, do you hear the flight of the ravens on the plain ?
Friend, do you hear the soft sound of the country being enslaved
Hey, partisans, workers and farmers, that's the alarm
Tonight the enemy will know the price of blood and tears
Climb of the mines, climb down the hills, comrades
Take the guns, the grapeshot and the grenades from the straw
Hey, snipers, with the bullet and the knife, shoot quickly !
Hey, saboteur, take kare of your burden, dynamite !
We are those who break the bars of prison, for our brothers,
Hatred behind us, and hunger pushing us, and misery.
There are countries when people have dreams when they sleep
Here, you see, we walk and we kill, we die
Here everyone knows what he wants, what he does when he passes (?)
Friend, should you fall, a friend shall come from the shadow and take your place
Tomorrow black blood will dry in the sun on the roads
Whistle friend, in the night liberty is listening to us