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The sun spits fire and on the earth it rains sulphur and acid. With the end time writing already for some time forgotten graffiti on the city wall. The Scales fall and know, oh man, this is the hour.

Oh, food is becoming scarce and expensive and there is no grain in the farmer’s barn. There is also no fuel to send the last products to market. And there is also no medication for HIV as a cure.

With political relations already so overplayed and soured. In civil war, different races begin to glare at each other, hateful and bloodthirsty. The churches are hastily calling for a prayer meeting. While each member thinks, for a solution, he is just the man at the helm.

The sun spits fire and in the atmosphere it rains sulphur and fire. Raka beats his drum warningly, sharpens his panga and drinks his beer. With everything now so infinitely expensive. In delinquency, the shopping centres burn in smouldering fire. Therefore, no one wants to buy or rent buildings anymore.

Everyone now speaks in their own language and fights for the survival of their culture. The Cape copper jug ​​is hastily polished for the last time. Black stands proud and upright for a short moment. The white volk cries: For healing, God alone is our cure. But from the sky comes the starry bull charging.

With its razor-sharp horns aimed at man and beast. A pestilence comes and it strikes accurately into bone, marrow, gland, kidney and every muscle. Yes, the sun spits fire and the weather become extremely bleak. The Scales fall and the Great Judgement is sent to the earth.