Neither soul nor spirit, yes winnowed from the good grain, the bastard is banned from the assembly of Elohim.

Neither sheep, nor ox. From Juda to Dan, from every mixed tribe there will never come a godly heir for Ham.

On whatever world festival, where whichever king reigns. Nobody knows whether it is woman or man anymore. But heaven knows to shy away from it in resentment.  

On the big market square, a Voice is calling Himself hoarse and Judgment is read over the earth. Lot’s wife feasts on unclean ham and in her flight, she hurriedly grabs her golden comb. Over a large area the oceans’ big salt dam breaks.

Neither shin nor bone, therefore let the children weep. Look, in mixed DNA there is no Chronicle blessing. The world citizen thinks he can, but in the big famine, bread is measured in single grams.

Neither Zeus, nor giant, neither person or icon, wherever mankind reads about her survival, all gods was just another lie-tale. So, from whatever faith, nation or tribe, against the coming Judgment, nothing will stand.

Over the empty purse, man timidly calls, oh what was money and gold again? In the hot pan there is no fat or lamb grilling, and all the food is old, moldy and damp.

Neither soul nor spirit. So, let the nations groan and moan. Look, from the dry Caucasian teat, there will not come any good blessing anymore. Yes, winnowed from all good grain, the bastard is cast aside, eternally banned from the assembly of Elohim.