Over mountains and hills the stench of dead silence comes. Oh how cold is the winter night where widows keep on hoping and waiting on loved ones, in vain. So heavy the burden in a pitch-black night. Where compatriots no longer consider each other, while brothers despise each other deeply.

Over mountains and hills, in cicada song the sound of deafening silence comes. In a land without hope or power, where the liberalist keep on waiting on God, in vain. In a land with so many men, women and children murdered and raped. Yes, a land where almost everyone, yearn for peace and happiness in vain.

Over mountains and hills the terrifying sound of Godly silence comes. Cherubs, angels and heavenly hosts keep silent in deep awe. Terrified, even legio has stopped mocking and laughing. While hell looks around, anxiously.

Over mountains and hills the Message comes, in Wordless Silence. The mine machinery is silent, with no movement in the shaft. The trade ships have been sunken. Their once precious cargo lies spread across the seafloor. The big ones and kings yearn for the highest power, for God they have no reverence anymore.

Over hills and bumps, in bomb explosions, a deafening silence comes. Look, the Angel of Death is tired of waiting. In the terrifying beauty of fire, there the enormous power of death lurks. Oh how bitter cold the pitch black winter night. The sound of a child’s joyful laughter cannot be found anywhere anymore.