We who have but rags to wear,

Let us go out on strike

And face the robber-master class

In all our naked might.

Do they not hold that man is made

In the image of his God?

So we refuse to desecrate

The image of their God.

No longer will we soil our limbs,

These beautiful, these wondrous limbs

With filthy, fetid rags.

Where is the beast so wild,

The reptile or the worm so base in kind,

Would not disdain the rags “creation’s kings”

Disgrace their bodies with?

Oh be not shocked at our forced nakedness,

Ye masters who refuse to clothe your slaves.

Do you not steal the wool that we have shorn,

The cloth we weave, the garments that we made?

You stole our clothes, behold us naked now.

Let us arise and from our bodies tear

The fetid uniform that brands us slaves.

In countless masses let us rally forth

And through each pore of our free body shout

Our right to life, to liberty, and joy.