Guante - A Pragmatist's Guide to Faith lyrics

This is the art of drawing breath Of making visible what has been invisible This is a pragmatist's guide to faith This is singing when you don't know how to pray Welcome to this space; know that you are not welcome here We are all trespa**ers, we are not welcome here This universe would like nothing more than for you to not exist And the proof is in the history you live, tell me this: What are the odds that this planet would appear In just the right place with the right atmosphere and geology? What are the odds that life would suddenly spark In the darkness from the carca** of this planet to a colony? What are the odds that this anomaly would spread? What are the odds it would survive and stay ahead Of volcanic eruptions, meteorites and earthquakes The first drum, first beat, first rhythm, first break First time the notes broke to form a system You could hear the first melody, the first multi-celled organism What are the odds the first location to harbor life Would meet another maybe fight or maybe harmonize? But either way it would evolve, So what are the odds it would evolve to walk and not crawl To fly but not fall, to survive every single ma** extinction What are the odds of your existence? How many generations did it take to make you? How many plagues, wars and ma**acres conspired To uproot your family tree and salt the earth around it How many ancestors carried your fire? How many farmers made it through the famine? How many runaway slaves got away? How many soldiers conscripted deserted? How many times did that chain almost break? How did your great great grandparents meet? What was the song playing when you were conceived? Is it inconceivable, the happenstance inherent in This life you have inherited? Some see the elegant complexity of bodies Or the natural beauty of the planet and they say it's godly There's gotta be divine intelligence behind it all Because the odds that you would make it on your own are so small But me? I see millennia trying to murder you I see a thousand generations of pain and fear I see struggle inscribed into your skeleton And I see you still here Ancestor armor, star-crossed survivor An unwelcome guest in a hostile environment Defiance is your birthright, fire from the first time You drew breath, a smile on your face Welcome to this space; know that you are not welcome here We are all trespa**ers, we are not welcome here So if our drawing breath is blasphemy, sin or treason Let's keep drawing breath until there's nothing left to breathe in We are the codes that our ancestors still speak in.