Burned pitch-black, the porridge is now finished. Yes, the fat is properly in the fire. So the masses soon have strong objections against their authorities for not gathering anything for a state of emergency.

The fuel also runs out, it becomes scarce. Over this, the taxi owners soon object wildly and violently. So South Africa’s neighbors begin to stare at her for help. But woe oh woe, only empty silos are revealed to them.

The cow is skinny and the corn-ear empty. Look, the wine and oil become scarce. And in an even emptier forthcoming year, Famine strums monotonously on just one string. Yes, so many people have saved their hard earned money in vain.

The World Bank now poses as the magician, yes, with quasi-solutions that it proclaims worldwide. But its magic tricks are exposed as an empty illusion. The mourning and weeping of investors will not subside again, while they stare so dismally at their empty purses.

Above and below the old equator, the already-so-sick, skinny dog begins to shed its hair in a deadly depression. And all that is left to the big ones, yes the kings and the bankers, is to declare war against each other now.