I hear a big noise and the Word calls loudly: From North to West, East to South the threshing floor lies fallow and wide. So gather the godless now, oh Angels, for hell as booty. Yes, gather all the good corn and burn the weed. Listen to a dying Mammon, hopefully whistling it’s new pathetic tune, and see England’s foolish economic decision. Smell the sulfur and gunpowder and know there is nobody that is going to escape the big war.

The Word calls loudly: Listen to the big noise of the furious waters and see the flames of fire that loot forests and cities as property for themselves. Listen to the death-march played on trumpet and pan flute and see how mothers are blowing their noses over deceased children. Yes, listen to the falling clods slapping on coffins while the Big Eagle dives down onto His prey.

The Word calls loudly: Wide lies the big world-chessboard checkered in black and white, yes with two big powers that oppose each other aggressively. America’s capital lies filled with mud and sludge and Moscow groans under a sudden sickness in its stomach. Europe is old, her teeth are worn but she stands firm in her decision to bring Asia to a fall.

The Word calls out: The world citizens stand closer, regardless of their language, culture or the color of their skin. As slaves they are now looted for a one-world-order. Look, not one of them will escape the terrible, compulsory world-tax, of blood-labor. There is no euro, no pound, penny or cent and everyone suddenly has to bite into one-and-the-same rotten apple.

The Word calls loudly: In death everyone is equal, but the big fear still does not want to subside. Look, there is no oil left in the jar and also no flour for the already famished stomach. There is no fish in the fisherman’s boat and no livestock in the crush. The children cry, there are no treats, cookies or rusks. The orchard is empty and someone has also looted the last full vegetable basket.

The Word calls loudly: From East to West, North to South, who will now decide over the last lot of the Boer? Look, once again the world will decide over them because they do not make use of My offered hand. But they took offence in My Word. So, to what shall we compare a fool? It is like one dancing a waltz with death, and determined he strays away from Life.

I hear a big noise and the Word calls loudly: Even if My Words sound so stereotyped to the godless, I still keep on playing incessantly on My Truth-flute, yes for Sion, My Heaven-bride. Look, for her I mend the once-broken oil jar. For her I open My glorious heaven-hatch, to unlock her spiritual vision in her rebirth, so that she will behold all of My exquisite heavens with her senses.