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I see the morning star shining. I see a sinking political ship. I see a stupid ruler trying to think. But a moron remains blind forever. I see a continent with its hands tied. I see its enemy approaching swiftly.

I hear a distress call ringing out. But far too late, masses of dead and mutilated people lie there. I see the morning star shining more dimly. I see the great ones of the world pouring the last wine. I see the sky tinted orange red. While the last rays of the sun beckon the darkness closer.

I see the morning star no longer shining. I see a message written in pitch-black ink. I see the Grim Reaper finding his way with it from East to West. While large parts of the earth begin to stink with the stench of death.

Along with the morning star, all the other stars have stopped shining. With only the falling scales finding their way to the earth like projectiles. It is now too late for a distress call to be raised to heaven.

It is too late to wipe away a tear for the last time. Also too late to celebrate or to gallivant for the last time. Even the kings and the great ones begin to bow down, to limp under the Judgment.