The sigil on the papyrus doth fade It slowly turns into past And all the thoughts that were made By those who understood Now float mid-air like ghosts Creatures of a dead, forgotten creator
Synthesis, noesis, the material of ideas And the laws that bind the Universe And all these that you no longer Want to possess Heavy they submit to a cruel mistress
A scrap of paper, a drop of ink A piece of mind, a simple movement That sometimes is late, or dull And others swift and desperate A silent expression, a secret locked Old, rotten, kept in the closet
An answer to a single why That once, and only for a moment Has been given
Logic of the irrational Knowledge of the obscure Reasons of paradox Ways of eutropy
Now swear!
Logic of the impossible Knowledge of the unknown Words that have not yet been spoken
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