| 1. Four Point Six
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| Archaean horizon
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| The first sunrise
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| On a pristine Gaea
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| Opus perfectum
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| Somewhere there, us sleeping
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| «After sleeping through a hundred million centuries we have finally opened
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| Our eyes on a sumptuous planet, sparkling with color, bountiful with life
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| Within decades we must close our eyes again. |
| Isn’t it a noble, an enlightened
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| way
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| Of spending our brief time in the sun, to work at understanding the universe
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| and how
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| We have come to wake up in it?»
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| 2. Life
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| The cosmic law of gravity
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| Pulled the newborns around a fire
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| A careless, cold infinity
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| In every vast direction
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| Lonely farer in the Goldilocks zone
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| She has a tale to tell
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| From the stellar nursery into a carbon feast
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| Enter Luca
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| The tapestry of chemistry
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| There’s a writing in the garden
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| Leading us to a mother of all
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| We are one
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| We are a universe
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| Forebears of what will be
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| Scions of the Devonian sea
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| Aeons path
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| Writing the tell of us all
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| A day-to-day new opening
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| For the greatest show on Earth
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| Ions channels
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| Welcoming the outside world
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| To the stuff of stars
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| Bedding the tree of a biological holy
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| Enter life
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| The tapestry of chemistry
|
| There’s a writing in the garden
|
| Leading us to a mother of all
|
| We are one
|
| We are a universe
|
| Forebears of what will be
|
| Scions of the Devonian sea
|
| Aeons path
|
| Writing the tell of us all
|
| A day-to-day new opening
|
| For the greatest show on Earth
|
| We are here to care for the garden
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| The wonder of birth
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| Of every form most beautiful
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| We are one
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| We are a universe
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| Forebears of what will be
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| Scions of the Devonian sea
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| Aeons path
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| Writing the tell of us all
|
| A day-to-day new opening
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| For the greatest show on Earth
|
| 3. The Toolmaker
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| After a billion years
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| The show is still here
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| Not a single one of your fathers died young
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| The handy travelers out of Africa
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| Little Lucy of the afar
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| Gave birth to fantasy
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| To idolatry
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| To self destructive weaponry
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| Enter the god of gaps
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| Deep within the past
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| Atavistic dread of the hunted
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| Enter Ionia
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| The cradle of thought
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| The architecture of understanding
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| The human lust to feel so exceptional
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| To rule the Earth
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| Hunger for shiny rocks
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| For giant mushroom clouds
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| The will to do just you’d be done by
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| Enter history
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| The grand finale
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| Enter ratkind
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| Man, he took his time in the sun
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| Had a dream to understand
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| A single grain of sand
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| He gave birth to poetry
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| But one day’ll cease to be
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| Greet the last light of the library
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| Man, he took his time in the sun
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| Had a dream to understand
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| A single grain of sand
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| He gave birth to poetry
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| But one day’ll cease to be
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| Greet the last light of the library
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| We were here!
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| We were here!
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| We were here!
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| We were here!
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| 4. Understanding.
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| We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones
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| Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born
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| The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact
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| Never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Sahara
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| Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats
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| Scientists greater than Newton. |
| We know this because the set of possible people
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| allowed
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| By our DNA so massively exceeds the set of actual people
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| In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I
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| In our ordinariness, that are here. |
| We privileged few
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| Who won the lottery of birth against all odds, how dare we whine at our
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| Inevitable return to that prior state from which the vast majority have never
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| stirred?
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| There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been
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| Originally breathed into a few forms or into one; |
| and that whilst this planet
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| Has gone cycling on according to the fixed law of gravity, from so simple a
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| beginning
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| Endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful have been, and are being,
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| evolved |