[LEADER]
There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills
These hills are grass covered and rolling
And they are lovely beyond any singing of it
About you there is grass and bracken
And you may hear the forlorn crying of the titihoya bird
The grass of the veld is rich and matted
You cannot see the soil
The grass holds the rain and mist
They seep into the ground
Feeding the streams in every clove
The clove is cool, and green
And lovely beyond any singing of it

[ANSWERER, spoken]
But sing now about the lower hills. 

[LEADER]
Where you stand the grass is rich and matted
But the rich green hills break down
They fall to the valley below
And falling change
For they grow red and bare
They cannot hold the rain and mist
The streams run dry in the clove
Too many cattle feed on the grass
It is not kept or guarded or cared for
It no longer keeps men, guards men, cares for men
The titihoya cries here no more
[ANSWERER, spoken]
Yes, wherever the hills have broken down and the red clay shows through, there poor people live and dig ever more desperately into the failing earth. 

[LEADER]
The great red hills stand desolate
And the earth has torn away like flesh
These are the valleys of old men and old women
Of mothers and children
The men are away
The young men and the girls are away
The soil cannot keep them any more