Being in control. A way to protect oneself from hurt but the defences don't discriminate so joy can't get in either. How did the craftsman in the three become the curmudgeon in the four. Perhaps his heart got broken.
For love of you, the air, it hurts,
and my heart,
and my hat, they hurt me.
Who would buy it from me,
this ribbon I am holding,
and this sadness of cotton,
white, for making handkerchiefs with?
Ay, the pain it costs me
to love you as I love you!
Federico Garcia Lorca, 1898-1936