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In the distorted silhouette of a dark figure, a creature dances grotesquely around the flames of his fire. This is Raka-Cush in the ancient killing spree of his culture. He beats his drums and drinks his beer. He makes noise and slaughters another man’s animal for his pleasure.

Woe oh woe to the country he runs. Behold, for his plunder and chaos there is no hope or cure. With the weather now grey and gloomy, the writing has indeed been written on the Wall of Judgment. It is too late for the world church’s abominable prayer time. It is too late to send up prayers to God.

Everything liberal has rubbed shoulders with the beast in brotherhood. Yes, to deface and degenerate global citizenship through hybridization. Thus, the flames of his fire now dance through city and town infrastructures. It dances through the pastures and grain fields and destroys the farmsteads and the barns.

And while its columns of smoke foully disfigure the atmosphere. I hear a voice calling: Oh, God, how long must we endure all this? But, with everything in vain, there is no solution or cure. Because this is the time, this is the hour, with the writing written over and over again on the end-time wall for some time now.