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I see a world red-light brothel and on it’s signboard is written: With no pleasure, the realm of death is now one dark cave. Then I see a fruit tree budding out of season. Yes, with fresh produce rotting on the world market.

I see a luxurious palace, now just a hovel. And a big pleasure boat, broken into a miserable raft. I see, on Africa’s plain, a dead Englishman, Irishman and also a Scot are lying on the ground. Next to them there is a traitor that eagerly wants to stand closer as the patriot now. But all the time it is only against himself that he is devising his mean plot. He is decapitated under his self-built gallows.