Count the ways the world can end
Or wait until their numbers wane.
Everything that's ever done or said,
Outnumbered more than ten to one.

When it started with a word,
Did He foresee it all as now?
An instant of infinities,
The careful placement
Of each speck and star.
Or did He say, "My work is done,
For every one there is another"?

There's nothing I have ever dreamt,
That's turned out as I thought it would.
So now I'm coming round to think;
It's the counting that will keep us safe.