There won′t be a world after all dice have fallen
Only the story collateral tells
The philosopher king, so high on his logic
Will call on his lizards to unfight his wars
A tree will be built on a forest of streetlights
Where roots try to suck the souls from the ground
And the augur of Orfield tells no one her truths
While lies have grown pointless ages ago
′round a self-worshipping temple, the despotic spirograph unwinds
One world at a time, one time every prayer
Though as the unliving rocks fear they might never die
The metaphysicalculator coldly takes notes
If his pages ran out, he would claim there were more
Though his pencil has long seized its dance
He writes down the real and his words become so
Though the letters wish they were not
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