If we must hold court in secret, so be it
If the price of progress is hidden toil
we gladly pay it

Those savages who would jeer us in the street
and prostrate before stones they carved,
or worse, the same animals they would feast upon for supper
If we left the great shaping to those mindless brutes, there would be no morning to wake to

We, the number counters,
builders of tomorrow,
who bow to no god but the highest number
that maximal parameter of the known universe
the ultimate concept

We who forsake sleep to count every night
that we may expand upon the boundaries of knowledge, that we may creep closer to God, that final number