Million Dead - Murder And Create

How should I begin
I find myself residing
At the dried out end of a dead history
All my thoughts of are dirt
Scattered on a coffin
And I a dilettante funeral spectator here
How should I presume
A besuited bourgeois mourner
Virgin to surrender and vivid sense
I scour lichened stones
Desperately seeking
Daedalus's paternal secret of
Where we will land
Well I was born with four fingers
On each hand
And with my eight fingers
And my thumbs
I do maths
Once again, how should I begin
I've started weak and I'm stuttering
But I have all remembered all my lines
It seems that I have presumes
To talk of maths
In front of crowded rooms
But I'll make the two times table mine
How should I begin
I find myself residing
At the dried out end of a dead history
How should I presume
A besuited bourgeois mourner
Virgin to surrender and vivid sense
Calculus finishes me
I don't follow trigonometry
I've got nothing to add to algebra
The more complex functions
I don't remember
But arithmetic
The absolute zero
Is arithmetic
On fingers and toes
I have remembered all my lines
I'll make the two times table mine
I will not presume, but I will thus begin