Wen dat day rish, di sojas wey dey kom from far, go make loud nois give Israel pipol; di nois go sound like wave for sea wey nak rock. Den wen yu look di land, yu go si sey e skata and dey dark, bikos di kloud don turn dia lite to darkness.
So I kon sey, “I go kry and mourn for di grass wey dey on-top mountin, bikos dem don dry and nobody dey travel pass der again. Dem nor dey hear fawol nois for der again and even bird and wild animals, don fly komot der.”