Death is dressed in crepe and a withered funeral wreath. Look, he dances in the glow of the moon, he lifts his sickle and he lifts his lance. He jumps from roof to roof, securely in balance and the masses gasp for breath, caught up in a hypnotic trance.

Death is dressed in crepe and around his neck hangs a pitch-black funeral wreath and he dances in the flickering glow of city neon lights. He has concocted his program hurriedly and nobody stands any chance against his terrifying actions.

America, America, so often you were told of your forthcoming perishing, and in the same way Europe can still also not understand her coming Judgment and she will never be able to be ashamed of all her abominations. Yes, the entire West went on the path of liberal self-destruction and in her Judgment, there is only blood and tears for her.

Yes, death is dressed in crepe and around his neck, there is already hanging a new, fresh funeral wreath. He dances in the glow of the moon but also in the glow of the city neon light’s flickering glow and already he again victoriously lifts his sickle and defiantly he also lifts his lance.