In a howling wind with a ghost-summer-cold suddenly so shrill, the lance is ready and the sword is now razor sharp, behold the lot has been cast so what is the value of the truth still, yes with everything from the world’s mouth just a heap of garbage.

Yes with the whore of Babylon nothing but just a cheap little tart and May will also not be of much worth for anybody in the future and therefore in one hand Elizabeth is holding a dry bouquet and in the other wrinkled hand only empty corn ears in a dead sheaf and so there is truly nothing left for Esau-Edom to inherit. So many Englishmen now begin to roam to nothing and nowhere because the measure was taken and on their measuring rod only Judgment is carved out.

In a howling wind with ghostly coldness so shrill, a red-headed child falls and with a bleeding wound raw in the skin everything is suddenly ruined for a one-world-order. Behold, it is now too late to try to recruit the favour of the world and all that is left is only the remainders of an abomination nation now slowly but surely busy dying. So the streets of cities and towns are now painted red with blood, because the lot was cast and the stock exchange is just a bunch of garbage. Yes, with the truth now only a Judgment, for the judgment of the world it is not worth a Pound or a Euro or even a Penny.