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Tell the Jew the spirit of Elijah is loose. He sits and waits for you at your doorpost. His Judgement comes in pure-bred, twelve times twelve scales, each measured by the gross. From their Sacrificial Ox there drips fat and blood like gall-bitter wine from an overripe, red, bunch of grapes.

Tell the Jew Elijah is here, and he sits at his gate. He comes from port side to starboard side, and he brings him a gall-bitter word. Tell him, his case has already been heard before the Judgement Seat. And the false Israelite, namely the Jew, has lost her eternal cause.

Yes, tell the Jew, for his false Israel only the falling scales of Judgement remain. Tell him also, there at his bunkers built in so many hidden valleys and natural moats. There the riding song of death already resounds on a mournful note.

It is almost too late to flee from the renewed wave of flying iron and lead. Look, their king is also murdered, and their merchant fleet lies stranded at the bottom of the sea. A drought is coming and it is scorching hot and the world famine is enormous.

Therefore, look up to the starry sky and see the once fertile Bull, now a castrated Ox. And Judgement spreads her pale grey, terrifying kaross. The cities burn, so do the fields and forests.

Therefore tell the Jew, the spirit of Elijah is here and he is loose. He sits and waits for you there at your doorpost. And know oh, Jew, it will cost you everything, everything. Yes, because from your Sacrificial ox drips fat and blood, like gall-bitter wine from an overripe, red bunch of grapes