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Oh, house, palace, hut, in the great weeping in tears and snot. Listen therefore, in the coming great prohibition, the word ‘surplus’ dies. Overnight in ‘tit for tat’ the word ‘boycott’ reigns.

The rich of the earth sit in sackcloth and ashes and weep just like Job. This, while the poor mock and scoff at this. Look at the stock market, on the forehead of the once rich ringleader, the word “poor fool” is now written.

Oh, house, palace, hut, from the rich to the poor, a multitude now covets a well-hidden cave. Listen to the auctioneer who calls out hopefully: Open is the most attractive bid. But no one buys, because everyone is bankrupt.

With their heads on the block. The old, as well as the new king, begins to lie to their subjects. From Englishman, Irishman to Scot, nowhere can one find a loyal patriot anymore. In Africa the locust reigns in pestilence and plague and Australia reigns the hideous plague-carrying rat.

At an alarming rate, the blood of the vaccinated is starting to clot in their veins globally. The deaths are leading to many fates. With electricity infrastructure still just a dormant junker.

All perishable products, such as meat, poultry and dairy, begin to rot. Thus, from house, palace and hut, comes the great gnashing of teeth in the bitter weeping in tears and snot.