A little landlocked country with no seaport
Snuggled in, shaped like a teapot
Anchored by ceasarism
We huddle in the stormy weather of absolutism
A harp strings a song filled with sobriety
The wails of a nation is not a priority
A dominating element of elitism
Conjugated with stalinism and cynicism
The iron fist of neo imperialism
The song speaks of a nostalgic tale
Patriotism a figment from the devil’s snare
Where is the land of milk and honey?
A memory lost it feels phoney
The bellies of children grumble from hunger
Where are the ancestors? It can not go any longer
The blood of the Nguni genocide
A blood bath without insight
Consolidation of power, illogical
A force of evil, inhumane
What about the songs of victory?
The end of bigotry?
When it the breaking dawn?
The myhts of freedom, a distant memory
Only in a little landlocked country