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While the trampled holy place now turns to her last pages. The crow squawks, yes the pitch-black crow. With Wisdom and the Truth now completely despised, the last brother-love is blown away by the wind, to nothing and nowhere.

Oh could we just have suspected or even have guessed. Then we would have known, all the time we have just loaded the rifle pointing towards ourselves. Once upon a time our ancestors landed there in old Table Bay. They tamed the land, yes, turned it towards development. But the last generation betrayed themselves and therefore Cush harvested the once beautiful land for himself. Now a strange flag is waving over our plains. While the now dilapidated infrastructure tune is turning to nowhere.

So, that which was sown is now reaped. Therefore, listen to the cock now crowing three times in renunciation. Yes, listen to his morning song, aimlessly blowing around in the air. The Boer-volk only betrayed herself and she rejected and despised her great God, for an abomination-church.

Therefore the big canon is already loaded. In anarchy the blood lies thick and sticky. The remnant that did not want to reap the death-virus for herself. This, the Angel of Death, through unprecedented wars, will indeed not despise.