WHAT music is that in whose measure the world is rocked?
We laugh when it beats upon the crest of life, we shrink in terror when it returns into the dark.
But the play is the same that comes and goes with the rhythm of the endless music.
You hide your treasure in the palm of your hand, and we cry that we are robbed.
But open and shut your palm as you will, the gain and the loss are the same.
At the game you play with your own self you lose and win at once.
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