The math tells the move by design; just fill in your sign. It runs on the rules that are taught when it comes back as naught. But I still love your dream of the mind as machine, 'cause I see what you mean. The freedom, my friend, I'll try to comprehend. Though your troubled thoughts can complete the form of defeat that's inside you, at least we can discuss how you're doing it tough when reduction's enough. I'm scared of your dream of the mind as machine 'cause I get what it means, but I ask for regret if my ceiling's been set and don't face it direct. It's freedom, my friend, to stop to start again.