I rouse your children, Hellas
Against the children of Judaeans
& I feel you as fighter sword.

Here's the moon sinking
Over the hills of sand
& coming down in chaos
& to nothing from its wisdom.

Christians will sleep in a while
Few minutes longer,
& only the stars shall flicker.
Then, Aryan tribes to regain
Their old glory,
To start again
Those persecutions,
Only with them
The sand masses glimmer,
A weak cry of Christians
& that's all.