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Million Dead
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Murder And Create
How should I begin? I find myself residing
At the dried out end of a dead history
All my thoughts are dirt scattered on a coffin
And I a dilettante funereal spectator here
How should I presume? A be suited 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
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But I have remembered all my lines
It seems that I have thus presumed to talk of maths
In front of crowded rooms but I'll make the two times table mine
Calculus finishes me, I don't 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
And I'll make the two times table mine
I will not presume but I will thus begin
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