(Instrumental)
Do you recall our long division?
Three by two leaves one
Three: that's our devotion
Two: that's our division
One: that's my decision
But talk of mathematics
Sounds so cold and dry
Probability and statistics
Are always used to lie
Three: the love we created
Two: the split that was fated
One: the changes that made each alone
Do you recall our long division?
Three by two leaves one
Three: that's our devotion
Two: that's our division
One: that's my decision
But talk of mathematics
Sounds so cold and dry
Probability and statistics
Are always used to lie
I always was a pilgrim, and that's what I remain.
The old world was so inhospitable
to my religion and belief
that there's no point in labored grief
over continents lost while I'm able
to seek anew and set the table
of friendship before I dine on love.
So I'll seek again a real good place
(utopia to some) for landing smooth,
where I can be at home on earth
as once I was, as once I was.
As once I was -- see it in the face
of the joyous boy before he's hurt,
crushed in by the alien belief
that no man should ever feel that deep.
A pilgrim, yes, but hold the grim --
not conquering forests in the wild,
but finding what's never lost inside:
the wide-open, wise, and curious child
who seeks to know all that he's felt
and holds within himself an untouched truth:
the noble soul itself reveres,
the noble soul itself reveres.