In his mathematics library Fermat

Annotated every text to make it plain.

But the proof of his last theorem was sadly not

Short enough for any margin to contain.

Well I don't care

‘Bout her savoir faire

If her conscience is made of bricks.

Can't you see she looks fine to me?

Three hundred eighty two four thirty six.

Three hundred eighty two four thirty six.

On a sea of madness

Waiting for the end of time

Drowning in my sadness

And talking to a number that was prime.

On the night before the duel the young Galois

Wrote "I haven't time, I really can't explain.

These results must be preserved in case I'm shot."

The next morning he lay dying in the rain.

Well I don't know

When she comes and goes

Or where she crosses the River Styx.

Can't you see she looks mighty good to me?

Three hundred eighty two four thirty six.

Three hundred eighty two four thirty six.