These old ideas are merely conjecture
And playing with the numbers
More Lewis Carol than Sean
They’re still… Born
Yet, supported by… the funders
You see, some lines of attack, clearly lack…
Any way to test a prediction
Sure, beautiful math, that set out our path
To feed this… sciencey fiction addiction
If you need to be in a specific many-world
To see what lies there, within it
It’s no use to us, out here, in this one
A loose-end theory. I’d bin it
We need these great minds to imagine
To play, explore and discover stuff freely
But if the figures don’t figure
And contradiction’s allowed
Physics degrades into philosophy
I mean, I could suggest there’s a conspiracy
Against man, AI and all life on Earth
Say, the Sun is trying to kill us all
But what would that theory be worth?
Worth everything, if we prove it right
We could take action, to save our souls
But even if everyone believed it
We wouldn’t start prepping down rabbit holes
There’s plenty of evidence that the Sun harms us
So, my hypothesis has some weight
Doesn’t matter if it ‘means’ to kill us all
It will grow, to eat us one day, that’s our fate
Now there’s a prediction if ever I heard one
We might escape before it expands, in a race
Sure, but it’s yet to be seen, if we really mean
To colonise… interstellar space
Anyway, don’t rule out my daft conjecture
That the Sun is actually tryin’
To hug its own children, way too much
Unaware, that we’ll all be a’ fryin’
Indeed, you could even say, and without a delay
That the Sun is simply feeding its soul
To eat enough matter, and grow a bit fatter
And achieve its goal, to become a black hole