It starts with a story. As do all things really. In a boiling country of a failing system. Where the peasants break their backs. Where the aristocrats spit on poor just so they can play in their grandeur ballrooms with the spoils of workers class. A country in which the bourgeoisie squeeze the spirits and flesh of workers. Mangling their bodies. Scaring them for life. A country that does not care about the serfs. Full of parasites that oppress the working class. A place no man of reason could clearly call home with a pride in his heart. A state riddles with disease. Oh, if one just looked at the mothers sorrow upon seeing their children cold bodies from overwork. If one looked in the eyes of invalids laying in beds, begging their families to not throw them on the streets. Look! Look upon the death of compassion. In those dirty alleys and vermin ridden homes. No one shall call a home this forsaken pit my comrade! There is only one conclusion and one only! The bourgeoisie and their aristocratic allies designed a great plot! A demonic plan! To exploit us! To oppress us! My comrade, their lavish is built on inequality! What is that they produce to benefit the society? I tell you comrade. Nothing! For their produce is but waste, as every man can freely govern himself! This I speak of! Comrades! Down with the old order! Down with the tyranny! Down with the bourgeoisie! May the red banner proudly stand in your hearts! Surely it is reasonable to cut off that gangrenous limb! If we do not act hastily, there may not be us to act so! I tell you comrades. March. March for your freedom!
One tear too many, one blood spilled too much. A keg given the fuse shall explode with fury and revolution! It starts in your hearts comrades! What you do need is but to manifest it outward! Fly the banner, march with the flags! My red heart rejoices, ohh so much when I see you stand up! Stand up against violence comrades! Pick up arms and march! Glory to the proletariat! Glory to the revolution!
I hear them, oh how I hear them. Guns firing! Cannons blasting! Old columns falling! Gates, bars and royalists tramped upon. Comrades! Do not stop now! Glory, glory, glory! I sense my disgust in those halls. Halls of Romanov and all Tsars. The oppression fills the very air. They drugged us far too many times! They shall burn and fall! We shall finally have our revenge! Now no mother shall see their starving children. No one will work themselves to death in the shadow of royal tyranny! Drag them, comrades! Strip them of their gems, dresses and boots. Make them crawl in rags. May they feel what we – the oppressed felt – shame. Shame, I tell you! Now we shall not know shame again. Now we speak and feel glory! Glory comrades! To the scaffold with them!
What joy it brings me comrades. What joy and satisfaction to see the bourgeoisie heads roll on the cobble beneath our feet. The same cobble on which we died of cold! The future awaits us now! I see it clearly comrades! Age of reason, of modernity and joy is upon us! We will built it with our own hands. Together, comrades! No kings, no gods, no masters. Only us! Green pastures shall be greener than ever before. The industry will expand and benefit us greatly! We will built monuments to our greatness that will last for generations! Children of our children of our children, comrades! They will look with proudness on the world we will leave them. Yet, comrades do remember that sacrifices must be made. It is not debatable comrades. Revolution is the ultimate glory! Remember that! We will march and spread it across the globe! Manifesting our destiny! We will burn every scroll, book and men who threaten the socialist way of life! For remember! They are of bourgeoise, not of our kin comrades! Burn the old world! Burn the world order! Comrades! Brave new world. Of Communism!
