Nowhere is there any reason or just a bit of common sense. So, burn, oh burn abomination land, pawned so easily for Boer-soul and blood, in a cheap yes-vote. In the big lie, so blatant, the entire country’s future is now stranded. And all that is left is only the stench of death, for which the vultures thank God so warmly, for the big feast.

Once upon a time Satan came so gallant and he took a liberal, Boer-debutant by the hand and look, bastardization is the wedding ring. The wedding cake is decorated under pitch-black fondant and the sparkling wine is Caucasian blood as a drink. Not the wedding march, but indeed the death march is playing loudly in rock and roll sound.

For three and a half times, the sermon is taking, in shortened time, much too long and for everything sacrificed, it is just stench for thanks. So burn, oh burn, oh abomination land. Look, you were not resistant against God’s big Judgment. Your infrastructure is sick and you economy perish in a dead Rand.

In an unprecedented famine you will have to slim without choice, while an unprecedented pestilence will creep over you. Your towns and cities, as well as farms, is burning from the left side to the right side and Raca storms in a circle-flank.

Look oh Boer, you are caught offside, with your skin now completely too white. Once you were a volk, but now just an illusion, rainbow-nobody. For this you can only thank yourself. So burn, oh burn, oh abomination land, with so many war-fires burning in your midst.

With no reason or just a bit of common sense, the last bit of sand now runs from your hourglass. In despair, the last bit of your faith is now also stranded. All that is left, is just the stench of death. Yes, with all the vultures thanking God for the big feast.