Million Dead
Murder And Create
How should I begin?
I find myself residing
At the dried out end of a dead history.
All my thoughts of are dirt
Scattered on a coffin.
And I a dilettante funeral spectator here.
How should I presume?
A besuited bourgeois mourner,
Virgin to surrender and vivid sense,
I scour lichened stones,
Desperately seeking
Daedalus's paternal secret of
Where we will land.
Well I was born with four fingers
On each hand,
And with my eight fingers,
And my thumbs,
I do maths.
Once again, how should I begin?
I've started weak and I'm stuttering,
But I have all remembered all my lines.
It seems that I have presumes
To talk of maths
In front of crowded rooms.
But I'll make the two times table mine.
Calculus finshes me,
Letras de cancionesI don' follow trigonometry,
I've got nothing to add to algebra,
The more complex functions
I don't remember.
But arithmetic...
The absolute zero
Is arithmetic
On fingers and toes.
I have remembered
All my lines.
I'll make the two times table mine.
I will not presume, but i will thus begin.
From Letras Mania