The future is the past that's why I'm past the future
If you compute the math then our path is computer
Who of you can grasp what I mean and its significance
As we become machines a merger between the symbiont
I'm smashing prototypes of Promethean protozoa
Who cultured ingredients of Bohemian Grove controllers
Entire solar systems switch positions when I polar shift 'em
Whip 'em out of orbit when I warp it with my torque of wisdom
Driven into forfeit anamorphic course of the torch lit
Skip a trip to the source unless dispatched to sack the fortress
Perhaps the cost of the corpses was corporate conglomeration
Accommodation to the wealthy, Heaven help me I'm out to face them
Place 'em accountable for insurmountable counts of debt
Bet your a** who makes the paper controls the nature of the threat
So get a f**ing clue or misconstrue blue blood aristocrats
And the facts they twist when these twits are trying to fist your a**
If a path exists to true freedom I'll try to find it
Reminded once out the cave the light I craved it made me blinded
I find it hilarious the truth is various from the say-so's
So how do you know yourself if you need the teachings of Plato
I may slow the process if postulate prediction
But I learn from my mistakes it helps me shape my own conviction
I listen to your ramble but won't gamble on your heeding
Hard to follow where you're going when you're not knowing where it's leading
I'm reading between the lines and like your mind I find it vacant
Acclamation over time but who's adapting and who is latent
Who's waiting for computers to revitalize the math
Most of our ideal futures are an idealized past
Crafting sacred geometry hiding ancient technology
So colonies on Mars could be older than anthropology
Hard to believe Egyptians built the vision of what precision is
From megalithic stones not known to be indigenous
But wisdom's misery physically I feel exhausted
The forces I'm trying to beat runs so deep it makes me nauseous
From ancient portraits of flying saucers trying to prove the path
Time loops in circles, the truth it is the future past
(hook)