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I hear a voice calling: In the fondly kiss of the angel of death, the big pestilence sets its inventive trap for mankind. Before man could know or realise, billions of souls are gone in eternal rest. It bubbles and ferments, in rivers and dams overflowing with dead fish.  In a strange fog, thousands of birds fall stone dead.

Livestock and game die in unprecedented fires that cannot be extinguished. Unexpectedly the Bear takes aim. To their eternal regret, stupid Cush thinks all of this is the beginning of grab and delinquency, in the big circus. The Russian is already aware of all of this. They stoke the fires more in Africa’s big unrest. But for Caucasian it means a positive plus. Therefore, let us calmly vest in the course of affairs the way heaven determines it.