Seven falls to three and when you hear the word "we" it's nothing but a whisper
Maybe if six knew what this would have come to he wouldn't have kissed her
Seven is experiencing an existential crisis, two, three, five, and six are on pills
No one knows what's going on with four and whatever one says kills
We were taught that two plus three equals five but that doesn't make any sense because eventually two plus three equaled seven
And now all those numbers wish they were in heaven
None of those numbers understand the spectrum of life that they were placed on to equal more than themselves
They couldn't realize that maybe not only does two plus three equal five but so does one plus four
They're nothing but numbers on shelves
Three hates two and six, one through six wish seven would just leave, four and five don't say anything and six is in love with two
Please don't misinterpret these valueless numbers because I assure you they mean nothing to you
They're metaphors only I understand and if you try to place an explanation to them you'll only get angry because believe me when I say that it's not about you
And it's not about him
And it's not about two
This is just writing on a whim
Nothing makes sense but that's the point
I could throw this around and say that everything split into thirds when two and four joint
But what does that mean?
It means nothing because this isn't me coming clean
This is me spilling what's in my head in a way no one understands but me
So try to decode the nonsense I've written, just know that there was no "we"
