This is the year which people will talk about This is the year which people will be silent about. The old see the young die. The foolish see the wise die. The earth no longer produces, it devours. The sky hurls down no rain, only iron.

In the dark times Will there also be singing? Yes, there will also be singing About the dark times.

Every day, to earn my daily bread I go to the market where lies are bought Hopefully I take up my place among the sellers.

The man who laughs has simply not yet had the terrible news.

The years like great black oxen tread the world, And God the herdsman goads them on behind, And I am broken by their passing feet.

Every death even the cruellest death drowns in the total indifference of Nature Nature herself would watch unmoved if we destroyed the entire human race I hate…

Before comfort had been squeezed out of the hard land, like blood out of stone.