Early this morning I had a dream: I was alone, riding a horse at a very early time of day. It still hadn┬┤t lit up. The bridle path was narrow and led to the root of a mountain slope. As I arrived to the tip of a cliff looking over a long valley, I took a rest. Close by was a small fountain underneath a ridge. The horses drank from the fountain. One could hear the sound of the bridle snaffle.
All of a sudden a voice could be heard coming from the cliff next to where we lay. At first it sounded like a mutter. Then it sounded more like words. I walked closer and then I heard the voice pronouncing in a dark, deep tone:
Gordon Brown, oh, Gordon Brown,
gaping, jagged English clown,
now your mouth has dragged you down
dragged you down, yes, dragged you down.
History will truthful tell
and talk about the road to hell
you chose to walk and wished to sell
your worthless little soul that dwells
ever since with tear and trash,
tear and trash, yes, tear and trash.
May God have mercy on your soul.
I was relieved when ├üsta gently woke me from my sleep, and said: „Would you like some coffee old man?“ We sat by the corner window and sipped the coffee, black and without sugar, as usual. I was still a bit stuck in my dream. I had the feeling the horses were still around. ├üsta said: „I used less coffee than before. We need to save everything now, don’t we?“