Fovea

There's a surgical knife that I've carried all my life
And I can't put it down because I don't know how
To live devoid of everything I've ever known
It's all an illusion

I need my constants, my safety, my monsters
To filter my senses into tiny tasks
But what are thoughts without conclusions?
A sea of confusion

Business is defining, business is explaining,
Data needs aligning, structure needs dividing,
Numbers need resolving, info recreating,
Never stops evolving, never dies

Focus on what matters, bend it into patterns,
Break it into fractions, actions for reactions,
All these things need corners, all these things need borders,
All are ordered into pixel-lines

We're balancing on a pinpoint
On a library of assumptions