Certain people notice numbers,
Finding patterns everywhere.
And their mania encumbers
Those of us who do not care.
Numerologists’ obsessions
Even lead to odd progressions.

Delusionary mathematics
Dominates their fervid brains.
Numerary acrobatics
Circus-trapeze height attains.
Madness drops from their twisted tree:
The fruits of numerology.

Noticing coincidences,
Forcing patterns where there’s none;
Counting up the incidences
Leads them to psychotic fun;
Adding the numbers that they see
Until they total thirty-three.

Their Q-tard superstitions vex;
Their Bible codes are all askew.
To us, such patterns do perplex—
Yet seem apparent, to their view.
We question thus their sanity
(As well their Christianity…)

Their book of numbers got them lost
And wandering the wilderness,
Awaiting some new Pentecost
In which to add, subtract, obsess—
Then, like an I-ching divination
Sum it up as revelation.

Counting sidewalk cracks for meaning,
O.C.D. meets calculator:
Synchronistic fields for gleaning
To a low denominator;
Indulging in Gematria
For God and king and patria.