Secreta Ayra (The Key)

The sigil on the papyrus doth fade

It slowly turns into past

And all the thoughts that were made

By those who understood

Now float mid-air like ghosts

Creatures of a dead, forgotten creator

Synthesis, noesis, the material of ideas

And the laws that bind the Universe

And all these that you no longer

Want to possess

Heavy they submit to a cruel mistress

A scrap of paper, a drop of ink

A piece of mind, a simple movement

That sometimes is late, or dull

And others swift and desperate

A silent expression, a secret locked

Old, rotten, kept in the closet

An answer to a single why

That once, and only for a moment

Has been given

Logic of the irrational

Knowledge of the obscure

Reasons of paradox

Ways of eutropy

Now swear!

Logic of the impossible

Knowledge of the unknown

Words that have not yet been spoken

Now swear!

The key...