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In the far South. At the crossing of two creeks. By a burning bush of fragrant green herbs. Come a witness and another witness, approaching slowly through a mirage. And from lightning bolt and heavy dark downpours, first breaks the Divine silence.

The four horses of Revelation stand ready in their harnesses. And through old rusty shutters, I look out through dirty, dark windows. The thieves, murderers, dogs and harlots stand in their multitudes outside. The earth trembles and shakes and it tears apart in Turkey.

In the outskirts of towns and cities they store the piles, piles of dead bodies. Thus comes the cry of the first witness: Olives-olives grown from the holy fragrant grove of green herbs. Thus answers the second witness: Grapes-grapes, human blood is trampled and tapped, from an evil world collapsing.