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Wind-wind, oh which country’s child are you now going to drown in your vortex. From the ocean and across the mainland you blow so diligently in storm-violence again. Yes, to crush and mutilate everything in your path. In the ominous howling sound of your song, oh wind, in your hunger you devour everything in your path. Just to belch it out there where it lies in chaos in garbage heaps to rot and stink.     

Hurricane-hurricane, there where you find your water-raid-path across the oceans. To drink yourself bursting-full, and there you dance around and around in a dark, evil circle. Before you throw up the contents across the land, destructively. You are born in the heat-beams of the sun, there where it glares down murderously on man. And then your convection streams playfully beckon each other, from below to up above.        

First you destroy the fragile little nest of the weaverbird. Then you drown everything in your path in excessive floods, through wild winds. Listen therefore to the ominous sound of the wind and know that a record cyclone will soon find her path to an inland again. Oh, she will crush and mutilate everything in her path     

Masses of land animals will also drown under her onslaught. She is named after a letter of the alphabet but prefers the name Monstrosity. She is the mother of all storms that will bring infinite destruction to infrastructures. So, wind-wind, which country’s man, woman and child are you going to drown so cruelly this time?