The cooking pot’s upset
There’s no more oil in the lamp
The mats are damaged
The straw mattresses are spread over the floor
It’s sad, that’s the way it is
Our beds are on the ground
We go to bed on one side, we get up on the other
To avoid the hens and their dirt
Our cans have no more maize
Our bottles have no more honey
My senses tell me that this year
You can’t trust upheavals
There’s no fat or beans in the “catchupa”
The coffee’s tasteless
There’s no more sugar to sweet it
Not even two spoonful of milk to mix with it
We have two boars left
A young nanny-goat behind the house
But since she hasn’t been covered
She doesn’t give milk any more
Children, let me sit down to rest
For an empty bag doesn’t stay upright
Let me look at you and think of this world
And all I’ve endured