I stir to the sun, lying on the bench
And grab for the journal that’s high up top
To sit reminiscing of days past spent
It’s just another day locked in die klop*

With eyes closed it appears, verdomde sjambok*
Trails traced the color of the Transvaal* soil
In panic I bring down a jagged rock
On the kop of the Boer*, dead and spoiled

The tension of Bantu* is now at boil
But my voice, even though just a whisper
Sings louder than any shot, anger or toil
In these charged times, words are things much crisper

Let the children of South Africa cry freedom
Their voices the instruments, their message the drums

*
- Die Klop - The prison
- Damn Sjambok (all leather whip used by the police)
- Transvaal - Former geographic area of S. Africa claimed by the Afrikaans
- Boer - Farmer / Afrikaan speaking South African
- Black person