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In a vision I walk on a road. I encounter a friendly tramp and he shakes hands with me. He asks: Are you on your way to the countryside, or are you going to the city? Be careful, because on both paths the blood will indeed splatter. He talks in riddles and says: In this and that, every hole just stays a grave. Therefore beware, the wild-dog is walking tame.

He carries on: A wild peach-branch is growing on the ennobled vine. Therefore, the wine in the oak-barrel is poisonous. He looks at me and says: Between this and that, Raca eternally stays on the sly. He pretends to be silly but in the dark night he comes running unexpectedly as “Impi”.  His first war cry sounds dull and distant. This while the blood is already splattering. He tortures with a cane, and sneers while hacking his prey to death.