Pythagoras

It starts with 4, and nothing more.
5, 6, 7, 8 are such a bore.
It only takes 3 points to make a plane.
It only takes 2 points to make a ray.
And that leads us to the final one
and all the endless possibilities of life and love.
The infinite potential of a rising sun,
amber angel of perfection, the number 1.
But though all the numbers all add to ten.
I look around and see the world has lost its mind again.
I see no savior only danger, I see no angels only angles.
Now these angles are all I see,
I can feel them poking little tiny holes in me.
These fallen angles love to puncture me and watch me bleed.
Now I have to wonder if there’s any hope for me.
Was he right?
From the start are we all, living art, mind and heart, living art.
Was he right or was it, all a lie?
You try so hard to walk a straight line, but these angles redirect you every
single time… Leave the line and leave your fears so that you can hear,
story of the music of the spheres.
You see the master he had a dream of a great interplanetary symphony,
spanning vast across this endlessness atmosphere of galaxies, and the
instruments are you and me.
Oh but now that the songs begun, you say you wanna walk away and leave the song
undone, can’t you see you were meant to be a rising sun?
Not a setting one, so stick with me and drop the gun.
He was right, from the start, everyone is living art, so stay okay from the
heart, he was right from the start.