It is the month of May, with snow-white true lambs grazing on the green pastures in front of the Migdol Heaven Tower. The big battle is now fought, and in the last fight, the dawn will get the better of the night.  

Listen, Elohim calls out: Look, I am the Great Potter and you, Jacob-Israel, are My snow-white, pure pot-clay. I recreate, form and make you, so that Lucifer will never again be able to seduce you. Only for your eternal survival, oh Sion, My entire Heaven will fight for your victory.

With the last sand running out of the hourglass, on May nineteen, the rest of the Caucasian race is seduced in the Nimrod-Balaam-doctrine for the last time.

Oh Jacob-Israel, it is time to rejoice exceedingly in your reaffirmed kingship. Look, your abomination-brother, red Esau-Edom, has in this period, again nestled down in the bed of a secondhand alien. The lure was a pot of red world-soup and the forbidden fruit was an overripe brown fig again.

Therefore, you and your children, Oh Edom, will suffer unbearably in your downfall, yes under the kingship of your brother Jacob you will forever stay as slave. Look oh England, to your misfortune and decline, the big world tide is now turning. Across your already limited territory, death is coming riding, terrifying on the Grey Horse.

At the feet of Babylon, oh interbred, English Jew, you have nestled down long ago already. And there on your knees, death will come and get you. Your head was once of gold, but your feet was a weak mixture of iron and clay. Therefore, in your big fall, it is forever done with you.

Oh England, it is now the month of May, ironically enough, the last name of your prime minister is also May. So, listen to the code and know, all this time the black sheep on the jersey of the princess was not knitted among the white sheep, but it was among the grey-brown goats.