The Stubborn Persistence of the Soul
They say that there is no proof for my existence
Following God whom the rationalists have swept away
There is no hope, no possibility of resistance
Cold hard logic dictates: I’m a primitive thought, muddy thinking all grey
I am an antediluvian construct, vague, outdated, completely useless
I matter not, nor should I figure in intellectual debate
If you have any nostalgia for me, then it is stupid, pointless
Mankind has evolved beyond me, to invoke me is way too late
Look, see there… the computer hums like a bumblebee!
That’s the electronic shuffle of ones and zeros, bits and bytes
It’s all quite simple really, mathematics and what you can prove and see!
We are all just primates when we turn out the lights
Science has triumphed – Rejoice! While I sit alone in the corner
Like a little mouse, I dare not make a sound, nor even a peep-squeak
All the grownups have spoken, it must be true then, even if it isn’t fair
Maybe if I just roll up into a little ball, and be very humble and meek
Maybe they will just stop yelling and saying I don’t matter or exist
Maybe if I become just like God, who is constantly tortured and executed
They will just use me as a punching bag, and I can become like the mist
Let the arguments and concrete proofs pass through me, allocuted
In the world-wide trial for my continued right to even be mentioned aloud
With the mind that seems so much more important than me
Maybe I should just wrap myself up in a white funeral shroud
For the mighty brain and DNA saturated life seem to have so much primacy
That I seem like so much Mediaeval, pre-rational gobbledygook
Is there not an equation or a quantum particle to stand up for little me?
Is there not some microchip pixel over-clocked nano-perceiver ebook
To list me even in its final footnote as a conjecture, a bit of old debris?
So… there is no proof for my existence, not even a shred, nothing
So I sit here in the corner, while theoretical physics and relativity rage on
Maybe if I close my eyes, and quietly pray within myself, and cling…
To God whom they are trying to destroy, maybe I’ll breathe again with the dawn.