And what do I say to what happened today, in the very city where I was born?
I only say this, these few verses from a 16th-century song:
In Godes vrees te leven
Heb ick altyt betracht,
Daerom ben ick verdreven
Om Landt, om Luyd ghebracht.
Maer God sal mij regeren
Als een goed Instrument,
Dat ick zal wederkeeren
In mijnen Regiment.
I saw an old, splendidly sculpted cupboard in massive walnut wood; they merely ask 475 euro for it, and probably would be more than happy to get rid of that ancient stuff, so Nederlandish that I suppose the very sight of it makes everyone else vomit. But I hope to buy it for my new house, I'm interested in buying a past. I have been unjustly evicted from my land, from my university. But every single bit of my symbolic domain shall be restored to me.
That's it. There is nothing else to add. No more tears to waste.