It’s just a number. Vanity.
We’re number-chasing animals.
Our eyes are set binocular
To focus on specific goals.
We have the freedom, yeah we do,
To choose this number or that one.
We do not have the freedom, though,
To choose no number, whatsoever.

That’s the rub, eh, little one?

And, say, we choose the one to chase.
We’re haunted by the others too –
What if our chosen number’s wrong?
And, panicking, we make a switch.
And still the other numbers haunt.
And, panicking, we switch again.
And still the other numbers haunt.
And, panicking, we grab them all.
Binocularly twitching eyes.
And still the other numbers haunt.

Before we know, our time is up.

And then there are the ones who say
That there’s no number fully right,
That living means to pick and stick,
That switching isn’t worth the fight.
If every number bites our bum,
Exploring different ones is dumb.

But how has that worked out for them?

So, when you ask how many more,
I don’t know, kid. Shut up and pour.