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Lyrics
ANTS vs. MAGGOTS
With renewed vigour I pursued the possibilities. Inevitably reaching the same conclusion. A constant in a world of variables.
The question: What of the soul? Does it cease, transcend, or become reborn and recycled to the infinite?
I built a fantastic machine: Wires, gauges, dials, and flashing lights, in a vain attempt to discover the secrets of the afterlife.
Having tested it upon our furry friends: Monkeys, rats, dogs, and cats, I determined that discoveries could be made. A suitable specimen had to be found. Chancing upon a vagrant late one rainy night, I lured him back to my laboratory with the promise of alcohol. His death was quick and painless.
Upon his demise I expected my machine to register the release of his spiritual energy, from his crude and unwashed matter.
Nothing.
Failure.
Certainly at this point the lines between science, knowledge, and ethics, had become blurred. However, my work and the results that could be achieved were of far greater importance than any trivial matters of morality.
So the cycle continued: Hunt - Experiment - Fail... Hunt - Experiment - Fail.
This consistent failure began to shake my resolve, also my confidence, until the small ray of truth burned brightly in my darkened study.
The motives for my work had shifted: No longer was I driven purely by the desire to understand the soul, but I was consumed with the intoxicating power of playing God.
What of the soul? Does it cease, transcend, or become reborn and recycled to the infinite?
The pious would murder the heretic or pagan
For illusions of grandeur, hell or salvation
pointless this conflict of what lies beyond
Exist for this moment, not the moment we're gone
What of the soul?
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