How the King of Matches lost his bargain
One equals
Berlin Walls
dancing
8/6=1,33
6/8=0,75
1,33+0,75=2,08
How do we make this one again?
6/8=0,75
8/6=1,33
So, either we lose one or we lose it again.
But do we really want only one?
Suppose we lose it again, what would happen then?
We're down with one again.
I hate to be alone.
Whether it be 56 or 65, I'll make it my home.
To excess your territory is not always intruding another one's integrety.
It really doesn't matter if you make it a new one.
But do we really want things not to matter?
Do we want all our dreams to shatter?
The things that dreams are made of are not always at hand.
There are always
Close your eyes and count to ten.
Make it two and count again.
I saw you peeking through your fingers...
Count to three and we'll make it a new one.
In the end, there was no one.
I hate to be alone.
These four walls, still they haunt me.
I whispered through: your secret's safe with me, my friend.
It's great fun to pretend.
My home was shattered, it was never me that mattered.
I wanted the things they dreamt for me.
There are always
More numbers.
I'd love to intrude your integrity, acces nothing but your territory.
Does that make you less one of me?
There are more numbers than things to see.
So, no, I don't want all of you.
One less will do.
For infinitely, no walls come in between.
They only add to their belief that there is so much left to see.
More than numbers, letters, things to shatter.
More you nor me.
Ignoring facts and numbers, words, again, are all I have.
Down to the playground, where a profound religion allowed to play around.
It's great fun to pretend when one has nothing on its hand.
But does it gain us in the end?
Probably.
There are always things
We don't know that for sure.
For sure we can
Either way
Without numbers, facts or figures
There are always words to say, that whisper through the walls.
That's what we are for
Friends
In the end we gain what we lost.
I hate to lose alone.
One equals
A lot more matches