It roars at the drummers' might.
It cries for its broken ribs.
Leave my bruised head to heal!
Unleash your passionate touch on my clan
and the fetters of iron-bands;
Oh! yes, they hurt too!
As some plastics make good replacements.
Your sticks are cruel and wild.
If only you could feel our fears
and the sorrow unleashed on my clan...
It destroys my thinking for fine tunes.
The voice of an orator is provoked.
Its beats are harsh,
but you enjoy it out of ignorance.
One more beat and you are done!
One more beat and we're through!
And our peace then ceases.
Listen O indecorous ears,
For our cries are heart-rending
Listen O humanity, to the effects
of the beats
Listen O living men
to the wailings of the exploited.
Hear the rage of thunder
in the African voice.