There was a man with a head filled with numbers
But the numbers brought him no happiness
The more numbers he gathered
The more sadder he became
Many a friend tried to help him
The philosopher, the scholar, the doctor
All offered wisdom
But to no avail
He sat crying in a dark room
Counting the tears with his forefinger
Numbering the days left to him in this world
Clutching each number tightly to his chest
Then came a knock on his door
"Please let me in! I can help you!"
"No one can save me. I have only a few numbers left
The philosopher, the scholar, the doctor have all tried and failed"
"But I am none of those
I speak the language of numbers
I am a Mathematician like you"
"Is this a cruel Joke?
Surely your numbers are also slipping through your fingers?
And, like me, you will perish counting your tears in a dark room"
"All I ask is one moment of your time. Open the door
Surely you can spare one moment--one uncounted tear"
The door slowly parted
A blinding light blinded the mathematician
His hands shielded his face
"Just listen to the voice of numbers
The only voice you can ever hear
Hold out your hand
I give back to you the one moment you gave me
Each morning when you wake
Cut the moment in half again
Do this every morning
And you will never run out of numbers
You will never run out of numbers
You will never perish
Remember and tell others
To the philosopher, I am the Philosopher
To the scholar, I am the Scholar
To the doctor, I am the Doctor
To the motherless child, I become the mother
To the lonely, I become the Comforter
To those lost in darkness
I become the Blinding Light