Early morning, just before the sun rises, at the break of day, the Maned Lion wakes his tribe with a deep growl. At that moment, the snow-white evening primrose withers, yes in the first rays of a rising, red sun.

Even before the first rays of the sunrise, hordes begin to gather as soldiers. Look, children form the first lines of this spontaneous battalion. While fire flames, in petrol bombs, begin to flower everywhere.

In the daybreak with the sun rising red, Raca is standing there on the horizon, in silhouette, fat, round and heathy. Therefore listen watchfully to the bark of the Boerboel dog and also do not ignore the warning growl of the little lapdog.

On this day, death is disguised in the form of the domestic worker and multitudes die of machete wounds. Yes, in puddles of blood flowering open like exotic flowers, in once quiet neighborhoods.

There the angels call, is this now holy, or cursed ground? A Voice answers, yes, from the last unconquerable fortress, of the Big Bastion: Cursed is this earth, because of the existence of the mongrel-dog. But healthy is the same ground, for the sake of My bride Sion.

Look, there on the horizon the first rays of the new Sun are already appearing. Therefore, let Judah awaken in the deep growl of the big Maned Lion. Look, a very old man is sitting in front of an opened scroll and he carefully makes a Godly sum.

He asks the Boer nation: How many gallons of fuel were gathered and how much flour is there in the small hollowed bowl? He says: Oh look, liberal Afrikaner volk, your abominations are stacked to the heaven-ceiling and the Red Sun will soon rise over you.