On either side of backward mountain,
Lay two valleys impeding any kind of success,
On this side the people of state are too hungry and angry,
The oppressors of state are gluttons, too satisfied to lift a finger on the other side.

Come, have a taste of my difficult life,
Daily I dine on poverty and strife,
My pockets are filled with nothing,
And the harsh cold stiffens everything;

But you sit on the rock,
Ride all day in a cool truck,
Surrounded by linen and fine gold,
And never afraid to grow old;

Deaf to all my frustrations and agony;
Never acknowledging my tearful testimony,
Blind to all my sorrows,
Waiting until I am no better than scarecrows.

The blue times are upon us,
Red is all we see,
But yellow is what we are,
Wrapped in black ensemble.

The days are black and all is in disarray,
The people of state are rudderless,
The children of state are lost,
The will of all is faint;

Uninspired by generations of cretins,
Unbelief spreads like cancer,
Uncircumcised vagabonds ravage the innocent,
Undesire serves all a dish of prolonged suffering.

As a matter of unassuming disposition,
And like a fleck of nothing on the wall,
Unseen, unannounced, unrecognised, unknown,
Prominent enough to not see me coming...at all.

On the road to see my sweetheart,
I stopped by a hedge of red roses,
And lingered for an eternity's moment,
To savour how true love should entrap a man's soul.

The many fiends rushed through screaming like a banshee,
Catching the sleepy lawmakers in a terrible fright,
The golden staff of office glittered in prostate silence,
Only to be stolen in rapturous, disharmonious free for all!