Lyrics 
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.
