Sum to perfect square,
Laid bare to great attack,
My seigeworks and grand escalade,
Up to the mount of time and back,
To crown it with a silly sum, of course!

Musical madness,
And all these walking melodies,
That wander to and fro upon the frets,
That mark mathematical sequence on the page,
That turn a motif into a movement,
And scatter like mist into their many permutations,
Musical madness,
A gift I get to hear from nations here and there,
From nations I have never seen.

Dusty rings,
Reach out to grasp the glowing filament,
Yet they are frozen in the strobing rays,
They flicker faster than the brain can run,
Spattering out bursts of light in the gaps of my optical refresh,
And the rings are held on golden whims,
Stretching out but never arriving,
So they sit there dusty, casting shade,
Shades we'll call them,
For shade they are.