Volume Fact: Chapter XII Songtext
von The Postman Syndrome

First a light, and then a cup, set upon a meager tray
Beside the book of revelations, and tucked by fireside′s brighter light
Studiously dwell upon the ill-achieved stabs at grace

The second light is tempered by its honesty
Overshadowing the primary
Words contort accordingly

Another page torn, crumbled by a fist in reaction
To actions pure in concept marred by dissatisfaction
Squeezing drops of still flame from the cold page


And yet it still must come to this: a wordless page, yet poignant fist
To keep the fire still contained
And if there's no more to show for this tonight except a paper cut
That′s fine
And yet it still does ratify when bloody hands will satisfy
And voices can't bring down the sky
Another page is smoothed and saved
The needless word has need today, the millionth word and first the same

"Against stupidity the Gods themselves contend in vain"
Against true luminance the bright ones lose their sheen
But through humility the dullest troll can fail discretely
"Against stupidity the Gods themselves contend in vain"

Illuminated now, a picture has two levels
There is the moment clad in shallow sun
Behind, there stands the fact, the noose of God surrounding
And tied to everything they fall, toppling the all