I don kry sotey wota nor gri kom out from my eye again; my heart don break. I don taya and e dey pain bi wen I si how dem distroy my pipol and how shidren dey faint anyhow for di town.
Si, Oga God! Why Yu dey ponish us like dis? Make wimen chop dia shidren wey dem love? Or make dem kill priests and profets for inside God temple, bikos of sofa?
Bikos of dis, for Jerusalem, papa and mama go chop dia pikin and shidren go chop dia papa and mama. I go ponish una and doz wey go remain wey nor die, I go skata dem for evriwhere for dis world.