All hail reapers of hope All hail the seer of confusion To grind the sandstones of culture And to reveal the true foundation Of terror and fevers Under vigilant eyes Of watchdogs of psyche Let loose by loving brethren Jaws dripping with balm Of righteous comfort To pour upon conflict Turmoil and friction I believe in the number PI The Golden section, the Fibonacci series The essence of nature is mathematical There's is a hidden meaning beneath reality Things are organized following a model, a scheme A logical series Since man is incapable of reconciling mind and matter He tends to confer some sort of entity on ideas Because he cannot berth the notion That the purely abstract only exists in our brain Because we'd rather think of snowflakes And butterflies than pain War, or that book, why? Because we need to think that life has meaning That everything is governed by logic And not by mere chance If I write 2 then 4 then 6 Then we feel good, because we know That next comes 8 We can foresee it, we are not in the hands of destiny Unfortunately, however, this has nothing to do with truth This is only fear Now bite into the essence And cut into fabric of life Unearth the fragile construct Below instilled order Never surrender Never retreat In this the weapons Are our very lives Fuck hope and godspeed