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With just a little bit here and a little bit there. The little war ships begin to sail everywhere now. With the last bit of food now gathered. Moth, mold and mites will enter it in rot. Oh, with the time now difficult and hard, all prosperity is over and finished.

From the empty begging hand of the beggar, the answer is: The harvest is meagre, the livestock is skinny and therefore all the money is now useless and finished. The political orator now objects deeply. Yes, over governments that did not want to keep and save pension funds.

The old-age now calls as the martyr: In vain I have saved my prosperity for my old age. It is only famine and poverty that I am facing. But through the government’s vaccine, they made a plan. Look, they make me sick and kill me, they quickly finish me off completely.

The investor now also blames his broker. Hopeful they want to know, will it perhaps go a bit better in the next financial year? But self-pitying the broker says: Look, with me it is also going bitterly hard. With just a little bit here and a little bit there, the cargo ships now begin to sail to nothing and nowhere.

The traffic becomes quiet and the highways complain: Oh where are my once-so-many commuters? With everything now so strange, so weird, but unfortunately very true. The pestilence strums onward, monotonously but busy, on just one string. Yes, with Death just delivering corpses, nobody is completely spared from the end-time miseries.