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...