Great Souled Man

Lyrics

I’ll direct the fine flower of my intellect
On the horizon, to metaphysically reflect
I hope the horizon is not turned in on me
Like an infinite mystery, with no end to see

Lines: half inch long, quarter inch and eighth,
That’s how numbers: one, two and three are made.
Crafting the others, go on as before.
Then draw a line, one inch long or more.

“Behold, I have drawn all the numbers in 1”
“Outrageous!” you reply, “No such thing has been done!”
The potential belies an actual infinity
But a problem still lurks in the vicinity

In π, are there four sevens in a row?
The finitist responds “neither yes nor no”
But, does he find a middle to include
No! just some statements to eschew

On a priori grounds, you cannot withhold
That there mightn’t be a last star to behold
Don’t be frightened of this possibility
Just embrace the actual infinity

To answer all your philosophic question
Arithmetize the language, and do a Zeno session
Infinity’s library contains a masterly treatise
Beyond revision, beyond great geniu

My utopian concepts transcend the empirical
Sober friends find my dialectic satirical
I will have my infinite in the end,
Aspiring against your downward trend

On a priori grounds you cannot withhold
Non-denumerably many stars to behold
Zeno your rocket outside our vicinity
And fully embrace the actual infinity