In the city there lived two identical twins.

They must have been about fifty.

No, perhaps even older, around seventy.

At least one of them was certainly older.

One looked like Beethoven, the other didn’t,

he didn’t look like anyone.

The one who didn’t look like anyone,

when standing, leaned to one side;

but he wasn’t hunched over, it was just that he wasn’t quite upright,

and that was why he wore, even in summer,

very large shoes.

One of the two drove the car,

but the other undoubtedly had

a much higher forehead and slicked-back hair.

I don’t know exactly where they lived,

I never knew their names,

nor the make of the car,

its colour was dark, I think.

Perhaps they weren’t twins, nor even brothers,

but just friends,

and they weren’t two, but only one.

And then, there’s no point in talking about it,

Charms would have said.