In soulless stones gathered, in a story, right according to the action and taste of some, they once again depend on a new lie. In glowing coals that burn, with branches that crackle. Yes, around a barbeque fire, where the imagination dwells in delusions in wine glasses. There, evil spirits begin to croak their lies from stacked stones, just like frogs.

In pain squealing, with hangover gall vomited, there lies an illusion Gilgal altar, cold, empty and naked. In a false religion, that abandons its followers, there a ‘priest’ now calls, everyone must now keep watch. But look, the foolish maidens have already halted, in their sleep.

To the tongue-in-cheek amusement of heaven-beings, false prophets try to crack open the rebirth. So heaven now makes fun of an alias Daniel and an alias Elijah, who are keen to make name.

Yes, while evil spirits furiously croak like frogs from their dead stones, in euphoria a scream resounds and gall is vomited. And look, all the stupid, foolish maidens, in their hangover they have already completely overslept.