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