One single planet, breathing in the dark, Split into two halves, a shadow and a spark. Three elements colliding: the water, land, and air, While four changing seasons reshape the clothes we wear. With five senses open, we feel the morning glow, Across six climate zones where the wild rivers flow. Seven deep oceans, beautifully blue, Driven by eight winds, carrying the new. And nine is the pattern in the dust, A world we love, a world we trust. As long as oceans meet the sky, The spinning wheel keeps rolling by. With ten fingers reaching, we build and we create, Standing as eleven players, masters of our fate. Twelve months of waiting to see a child grow, With thirteen lucky moments that only lovers know. Fourteen days of youth, vanishing like smoke, Chasing fifteen dreams before the morning woke. Sixteen years of learning to find out who we are, Asking seventeen questions, staring at a star. Now eighteen threads begin to weave, The way we love, the way we grieve. Through every heart and every bone, We never walk this earth alone. We live a hundred years, starting in nineteen-something-old, With twenty toes and fingers to brave the bitter cold. Twenty-one grams of soul, lighter than the breeze, Walking down twenty-two paths beneath the ancient trees. Twenty-three chromosomes making up our frame, Twenty-four hours to play this fading game. Twenty-five percent of truth is all we’ll ever see, Spelled in twenty-six letters of human history. And twenty-seven seals the rhyme, A sacred dance of space and time. The tapestry is finally spun, The many parts become the one. Just one planet... Spun into twenty-seven... The many parts become the one.
