A shame Dubiwe is on the moor.
Again, waiting for someone to follow her spoor,
maybe a man, maybe a boar.
Yet she speaks clearly without rancour,
she's unlike any other whore. She's so mature,
and because of all the men, so impure.
Dubiwe shouldn't wait for the boar,
men like that will make her impure;
they will fill her with rancour.
A girl, a whore, who is so mature
should not wait out on the moor,
just for men to follow her spoor.
Dubiwe's body is filthy with rancour,
she is a filthy whore, a boar.
Why blame the men on her spoor?
Why blame the men of the moor?
She is a girl, she is mature.
She shouldn't make herself impure.
"Dubiwe sleeps around! She's impure!"
That is the gossip on the moor.
"What a whore, isn't she mature!"
She stutters, not wanting to be rancour,
she never wanted to be a boar;
men still hurry onto her spoor.
Predators stalk Dubiwe's spoor;
they hunt her out like a wild boar.
Predators don't care if she isn't mature.
They all say she's impure,
but they hunt girls on the moor.
They stink, filthy with rancour.
Dubiwe breaks; she admits she was never mature.
However, her stench of rancour
leads in predators. They cling to her spoor.
They shoot into her, like she's a wild boar.
They brand her a whore: filthy and impure.
She is branded the whore of the moor.
She wasn't mature; she wasn't a boar.
She stinks of rancour, from all the men who clawed at her spoor.
However, she was not a whore and not impure. She was just vulnerable Dubiwe of the moor.