Hans Beckert: I can't help
what I do! I can't help it, I can't...
Criminal: The old story! We never can
help it in court!
Hans Beckert: What do you know about
it? Who are you anyway? Who are you? Criminals? Are you proud of
yourselves? Proud of breaking safes or cheating at cards? Things you could
just as well keep your fingers off. You wouldn't need to do all that if
you'd learn a proper trade or if you'd work. If you weren't a bunch of
lazy bastards. But I... I can't help myself! I have no control over this,
this evil thing inside of me, the fire, the voices, the torment!
Schraenker: Do you mean to say that
you have to murder?
Hans Beckert: It's there all the time,
driving me out to wander the streets, following me, silently, but I can
feel it there. It's me, pursuing myself! I want to escape, to escape from
myself! But it's impossible. I can't escape, I have to obey it. I have to
run, run... endless streets. I want to escape, to get away! And I'm
pursued by ghosts. Ghosts of mothers and of those children... they never
leave me. They are always there... always, always, always!, except when I
do it, when I.... Then I can't remember anything. And afterwards I see
those posters and read what I've done, and read, and read... did I do
that? But I can't remember anything about it! But who will believe me? Who
knows what it's like to be me? How I'm forced to act... how I must,
must... don't want to, must! Don't want to, but must! And then a voice
screams! I can't bear to hear it! I can't go on! I can't... I can't....
Pickpocket With Six Watches: "There are more police on the street tonight than whores"