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I hear a street prophet that prophesizes. There where he moves among beggars and drug-slaves. He calls: convert, convert. Look, the entire West will soon stand besieged, to her downfall. And while you already must do without so much, there will soon be nothing left for your stomach to digest.   

But there is nobody that wants to learn something from his message. This, while some urinate disdainfully on him. Oh, if there were only one that would honour him in his message. Who would respect him just a little bit in his calling. Look and see that this street prophet was an angel, camouflaged in the shape of a human.   

Sent by God Himself, he wanted to come and try something toward the salvation of these lost ones. But once again, this period also disappoints in this effort. Even in the most precarious circumstances, in his haughtiness man does not want to be taught anything. Then I see a slice of mouldy bready with nothing smeared on it. I see two women lacerating each other in a bloody fight over this.       

Next to this, a toddler is sitting, grieving over his deceased mother. Over his little corpse, a group of people will lacerate each other like wild animals the following day. Then I see the wind stopped rotating in a windless state. Therefore, the convection streams stopped circulating and a drought comes, which will destructively turn everything upside down.

In the echo I still hear the street prophet prophesizing to the dead in quiet alleys. And I wonder if their souls in their hereafter can turn around from bad to good. But sadly, I know that heaven is also mourning all the lost souls of the people who once dwelled the streets.