There Is A Lovely Road That Runs

The Afrikaner Has Nowhere To Go, And Thats Why He Would Rather Destroy Himself Than Capitulate.

There Are Voices Crying What Must Be Done, A Hundred, A Thousand Voices. But What Do They Help If One Seeks For Counsel, For One Cries This, And One Cries That, And Another Cries Something That Is Neither This Nor That.

There Is A Man Sleeping In The Grass. And Over Him Is Gathering The Greatest Storm Of All His Days. Such Lightening And Thunder Will Come There Has Never Been Seen Before, Bringing Death And Destruction. People Hurry Home Past Him, To Places Safe From Danger. And Whether They Do Not See Him There In The Grass, Or Whether They Fear To Halt Even A Moment, But They Do Not Wake Him, They Let Him Be.

The Only Way In Which One Can Make Endurable Man's Inhumanity To Man, And Man's Destruction Of His Own Environment, Is To Exemplify In Your Own Lives Man's Humanity To Man And Man's Reverence For The Place In Which He Lives.

Who Knows For What We Live, And Struggle, And Die?... Wise Men Write Many Books, In Words Too Hard To Understand. But This, The Purpose Of Our Lives, The End Of All Our Struggle, Is Beyond All Human Wisdom.