In the street, under the sleeplessness of sunlight,
You will be snatched before your eyes blink.
A mad wagon always announces their present.
And its crying horn turns their spokesman.
Before their stammering musket bath the daylight,
The witnesses must have handshaked their faces with soil.
You must swallow their orders
Or become a meal to their carnivorous toys.
Cry of the broken glass is always heard by the surroundings.
But no one wants to know his bride-price for death.
The victim silently submit to the laughing horror.