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In a pitch-black procession that moves forward slowly but surely. The masses call: Our courage is gone, what is there still left to live for? Look, the bread bin is empty and no protein is weighed on the scale.  Nobody listens to the call of the hungry, begging for a fragment of bread.

While the preachers begin to choke on their own preaching. Russia is taking revenge on the West. With so many wounds inflamed, the wounded are lying weak and pale, but with nobody nursing them. Most die before the next daybreak. With the oil jar empty, the baker calls: In any case, there is no flour for the dough.

With the measure now finally weighed, most people begin to hide their food. But the houses are broken open without any ado and friends as well as enemies want to know aggressively: Where are the precious supplies hidden? The coward begins to sweat, with the apologetic liberal that tries to forgive himself for fatal mistakes with excuses.

But the super-rich is still surrounded by gold and glamour. Delightfully they eat caviar and crayfish while they still live on in luxury. Yes, with their haughtiness that now strives to the highest heights. The false prophet is clothed in a purple royal garment. But his scepter is already broken into pieces. From the West comes a bloodcurdling scream of terror. I hear a Big Voice calling: Look, their judgment is called FEAR, and FEAR once again.