With Hearts Toward None IV

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