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I see the vultures rushing to a place in the West. I see the bait and I am amazed over the big number of corpses inflating in decomposition. I hear a big noise and see the end-time-storm furiously blowing and hissing. I hear the death march played on flute and brass. In the mass-grave the boss now lies buried together with the servant, without discrimination. And on the grave there is no coronal or just a single flower in a vase.

I see a bloodied rabbit and hear a voice saying: Big trouble is coming before the next Easter. I see the vultures rushing to various places now. In pestilence, war and famine comes a big lamentation, in a hell-noise. It is the end-time-storm now furiously blowing and hissing.