The red star, the people’s star,
herald of the Great Perhaps.
The red star, the fighter’s star,
shining on our forage caps
from Russia!
I was nothing but a boy, callow rebel, full of joy,
but I was a fervent Marxist through-and through,
And I do not wish to brag, but I raised the Friendship Flag,
the old Serbo-Croat red and white and blue.
How the plutocrats would pay on the revolution day,
all the priests, and politicians of the Right;
our young hearts took flight, like birds, to the International’s words,
for tomorrow it would come – the Final Fight!
The red star, the people’s star,
herald of the Great Perhaps.
The red star, the fighter’s star,
shining on our forage caps
from Russia!
Josef Tito gave the call, and we answered, one and all –
“Death to Fascism, and freedom to Mankind!”
So we formed our ragged ranks and stood up to Nazi tanks,
using Molotovs, and any gun we’d find.
And it sometimes made us sad – but more often made us mad –
when we realized that on the other side
There were workers, peasants too, people just like me and you,
they shot just as straight, and died just like we died!
The red star, the people’s star,
herald of the Great Perhaps.
The red star, the fighter’s star,
shining on our forage caps
from Russia!
But compassion doesn’t last, and hot hatred comes on fast,
when you see your sisters slaughtered in the town,
And there’s no one left to save; so we gave just what they gave
to the men whom we called traitors – put ‘em down!
Someone said that war is hell, and we went through that as well
as we fought and ran, and fought and ran again,
Losing comrades, losing friends on the road that never ends –
there was glory, there were heroes… there was pain!
The red star, the people’s star,
herald of the Great Perhaps.
The red star, the fighter’s star,
shining on our forage caps
from Russia!
But the foeman came on fast, and our good luck couldn’t last;
in Valjevo, on a February day,
where the Gradac river runs, came the Germans with their guns –
they surrounded us and carted us away!
Comrades! If you are to die, raise your fists up to the sky!
Let all Southern Slavic heartbeats sound as one!
Let the Workers’ iron will that the Fascists cannot kill
lead us onward – strike before the dream has gone!
The red star, the people’s star,
herald of the Great Perhaps.
The red star, the fighter’s star,
shining on our forage caps
from Russia!
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