The weather is gray and bleak and the writing is written in neon brightness on the end-time wall. With the nerves now scoured raw, how much more can the flesh endure?

The porridge is rotten and the milk is sour, yes with food and provisions soon not affordable, so expensive.

Under poor black and white management, soon there is no working infrastructure left. With the white culture perished, hate is inflamed sky high.

So, bring Raca his beer. Look, in his crude soul the primeval beast awakens. He acts according his lust, according to every whim and graze.

But just look at the ant, the smallest animal. Diligently he brings his winter food into his nest structure. As astute as the strongest tiger, fearless and proud he opposes his enemy.

But just look at the liberal Boer, fueled by his own ego. Crawling, he rubs shoulders with his enemy.

In his most distressed hour, there is no supplies in his shed. And while he longingly stares at countries overseas, he will not endure anything for his blood-neighbors.

But he let himself be hired by Raca for a hunger-wage and therefore the writing is written in neon brightness, for the liberal Boer, on the end-time wall.