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In a place of silence where once the turtle-dove would coo peacefully, now only chaos reigns in the turmoil. Look, the consumers stand helpless with their mouths gagged. With no transport, the tourists have also stopped touring.

The farmer decides it’s time to stop farming. I hear a voice calling: Ration-ration with the grain still green. The cold weather also begins to ruthlessly do away with everything in sight. At the market someone desperately exchange his pumpkin for a bag of oranges.

The false prince of peace cries: It is time for the nations to reconcile. But no one wants to forgive or reconcile anymore. In a place of once unlimited wealth, poverty begins to creep in. Even in the brothel, no one is interested in the once popular whore anymore.

For the ransom of a sack of flour, a man unscrupulously kidnapped his neighbour’s child. But the latter cries out in relief, “You took her and must therefore feed her from now on.”