Lyrics to 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 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

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.



How should I begin? I find myself residing

at the dried out end of a dead history.

How should I presume?

A besuited bourgeois mourner, virgin to surrender and

vivid sense,

where I land.



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.