A scrap of cloth
A brush of wind
The darkness falls
And we begin
If we be but the pieces of the great machine of God or something greater
Then we will not allow it to hold us. If Dr. Graise or Fate or
Something we don't care about should tell us no
Then who are they to tell us so?
For this we build our own machine
To leave behind the worthless things
And look to the world that they will be sure to destroy someday.
Here we are now, alone, and we'll begin again. OK?
The lights flash on like champagne corks
And circuits hum like tuning forks
And all that's true is there to see!
The Universe in front of me!
Right in front of me...
In front of me.
And here we are again. There's us.
They seem to make an awful fuss,
Building that machine of theirs.
What use is it? Who knows? Who cares?
What fools they are, we were, we see
To wish for immortality
When we did not want to live forever.
With all they'll know, they'll never
Feel as happy as they do right then. But...
Then is now, it happens. What
Could we do to stop us here?
Go back a day, a week, a year?
Kill the then and more will come.
'Tis best the whole were all undone.
To stop the pointless waste of life
For causing reason into strife--
And better yet, go all the way
And stop the first new light of day.
It cannot end without a start.
'Tis true, I feel. With all my heart.