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Oh, the later it becomes, the wilder it gets. Look, the great war camp is drawing ever closer. From the make-believe doer and perpetrator comes one great blunder after another. From the sweet and bitter of myrrh or mara. Countries are now each other’s ally or otherwise their enemy-hater.

Thus the marching music of world politics strums monotonously on old rusty strings. East and West now stand together in distinct pairs. Babylon stands with her hand in her hair. No one considers her worth anymore. Few still desire her merchandise.

The West is boiling in ever higher degrees Celsius. Yes, with few crops in her dry earth. In her orchards the leaves of the fruit trees are shrivelling and withering. With not even a bit of green clover anywhere, the livestock in the feed-lots are starving.

The great famine is approaching quickly now. But no one listens to the deep objections of the consumers. They protest in enormous crowds. But governments once considered strong pillars, now stand without reason in their make-believe wisdom councils.

Oh, the later it becomes, the worse it gets. Just look how bitter the last drinking water becomes. The Authorities cry: What do we do with all the thousands of cadavers now? Masses die with poisonous blood in their inflamed veins. But still the world’s many war camps draw ever closer.