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Under the sign of the Southern Cross I hear a great roar in the buzzing of wings. The oceans seethe and roar, before they crush the coastlines with their cities in giant tidal waves. Under the sign of the Southern Cross a mighty fist rises from a small remnant.

I hear an inner voice in the soft whisper of the wind. She whispers: Oh, I am finally home. So come oh, Sion-bride, so pure and chaste, to your dwelling prepared in Elohim’s house. Under the sign of the Southern Cross I hear a great roar in the buzzing of angel wings. And I know in Africa and the whole world something is not right.

I see the first continent being brutally purged of homo sapiens. Yes, of every corrupt man, woman, and child. Yes, of every lost one who will cross paths with the angel of death. Under the sign of the Southern Cross, I hear in the buzz of wings, the four winds whizzing mightily from their wind-directions.

I see heaven then opening her floodgates mercilessly. It seethes and it roars before the floodwaters crush everything in its path. So come, oh, Sion, small, pure and virginally chaste. It is becoming time to move to your place of preparation for safety.