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Across the plains of Europe, the inhabitants thereof stand unrepentant, fossilized. In flood upon flood, it is raining without stop. In the swamp mud-peat, their harvest is lost. The poor citizens groan and moan. It penetrates through marrow and bone. They now pray openly for just a little blessing. But heaven took all of this from them. On the shop shelves with so many products gone. There is no milk to wean their infants with. Oh, Europe is sitting with a big problem. Desperately these countries try to lend from each other.

But in a global war, where the enemy just takes and takes. Yes, there where the bombs rain across town and city incessantly. Across the plains of Europe, the sorrowful sound of women weeping without end now comes so obscenely. For all their men and suns that are gone into graves, as soldiers. The ghosts of their children also play in junk-parks, quiet and serene. Desperately Europe resists her enemy for the last time. But in the future, the hammer and sickle flies as victory-emblem over Buckingham palace.