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I hear a song playing in my head. With the following words resounding wildly: Wake up, wake up, the squatter is standing ready at your door. Diligent like the early morning baker, however he is the evil rascal. He is standing there together with his pal. They demand your farm, your house, and also every morgen and acre. Oh, he stays an evil rascal and therefore the mass grave just gets wider and wider and also shallower.

I hear a song that keeps on playing in my head. Just like the early morning cock that does not want to stop crowing. He crows: Wake up, wake up. Look, the unrest begins with the fruit packer. The packer together with his pal are already standing at your door. They paralyze you with their demands, your muscles become weaker and weaker. So, when will you, oh fool, now finally wake up?