One's lonely, two's a party, three's a crowd.
It too true, that saying. That two people could have a wonderful time but as soon as you add another, things get awkward.
What would you call six? What does it matter, they can break up into two's. Seven? One is left lonely. Lonely, lonely, lonely. Sigh.
If you have any similarities to this in your life, you are unlucky. I would know. I'm a part of seven. Well, At one point it was five, but I try not to think about that. It's pretty depressing (even if in a certain point of view it could have been thought of as romantic).
I don't know why I'm One. I'm a pretty funny guy. People enjoy my humor. I'm totally lovable.
Sure, I was a suspect for my mother's murder and I may have started a war, but who doesn't have that on their record?
The fact is, one is lonely, three's a crowd, and seven is freaking pathetic.
Who cares about a repair boy? No one's going to fall with me. No one will dance with me on the roof. No one will help me carry my weakness.
I can make a chain. I have my automatons. I carry my weakness in my tool belt.
I am the repair boy. I created the Argo II. I am Leo Valdez. Super-Sized Mc. . . Mcshizzle, man. Bad. . . Bad boy supreme.
I am the Seventh wheel. I am lonely. I create a crowd.
One is lonely. Two is a party. Three is a crowd.