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In the final greeting, it is now croup upon croup in the phlegm-call. Corpse upon corpse lie displayed from houses and parks to the shop-porches.  I see a large sick group. I hear them desperately calling for a doctor. I see many-a-troop trying to care for and to feed patients.

I hear the media now calling with sympathy: Just stay calm and stay hopeful. But an angel answers: It is time and man must pay. Everywhere around me I just see blood. From heaven a strange glow shines. Down there a long funeral procession is moving. Food and medicines are hurriedly rationed.

In a big Exodus people now move on foot. Behind them lie many dead ones in a trench. Everyone scatters apart, while loved ones greet. For the last time a man waves sadly at his wife with his hat. Yes, in croup upon croup the phlegm-greeting comes. Those who survive are tired and completely kaput. While nobody is trying to call a doctor for help anymore.