There Joshua's telling us:

spurn strange gods on pain of death.

We toyed with God while whites looked on:

today our country's affliction itself.

Agreed!

Ah, the sorrow that siezes your land, Nontsizi,

all the things that bring us grief,

recalling our old Mgqwetho kin

wrapped in blankets of skin.

Agree!

Let yesterday's customs perish:

those gods ripped out our hearts,

and so we don't know who we are

and all our chiefs sit mum.

Agreed!

Today droves of black people

have long abandoned their customs:

they banished them from their homes

in the heat of the summer sun.

Agreed!

You see, my people, we're old,

truth threw us long ago;

my people, we need to be planted and watered

to bring forth the spirit of nationhood.

Agreed!

Agree, herders of Sandile's cattle,

of Mshweshwe and Langalibalele,

mimosas that twisted in falling!

That rising sun made me think of Shaka.

Peace, Africa, strife-torn land!

There's little indeed we can take for the truth.

Nitpicking poets, I say,

ignore the grain that pecks the chicken.

All of you know what's going on:

you're patently ringed by lies.

Let's seek the truth from those above,

who died both here and in the water.

There is Joshua telling us

to spurn strange gods on pain of death.

Where are the customs of our land,

transmitted to us through the ages?

Agree with me, men! Peace to you, ladies,

and let those who feel bad for you hang themselves.

Oh, we're covered with chaff from the threshing-floor!

We cast off our customs, went in search of a wife.

Let's remember the days of our fathers,

seal Tshiwo's deserted villages,

which sprawled up the hillside slopes

like the flocks on Mount Hermon.

So back, my people, and watch.

All creatures will come out to bask in the sun.

Agree with me! Yes, in truth we agree.

And You, who scolds the thundering skies.

Agree indeed!