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Who is standing there so proud, and thinks his head is reaching the cosmos? Who is the false lord hidden in the appearance of the christos? Look in the image of a make-believe colossus that rests on feet weak and brittle. In this system with centuries wasted therein. The earth’s crust now crumbles underneath it.
Death appears on its grey Horse. In this big ruin, only chaos reigns. The four big princes of heaven now release all four winds. The fire rampages through civilization and forest. King flood is loose in all the big rivers. The earth breaks her crust into pieces. In hurricane upon hurricane the winds break loose. Everything is now just one big mess.
In the big failure of harvest, everyone now longs for food. The children of the earth call: Oh God, we are hungry and we are thirsty. But in the lamentation of this pathos. The once so rich trader has nothing for the consumers. But in the death of the last so skinny, scabies ridden, mouth-and-foot-disease ox. The meat thereof is not fit for the most inferior sausage. But the West still hits herself proudly on the chest. She thinks her head reaches to the cosmos. Therefore Hades opens her gates and the entire hell breaks loose.