Let's get one thing straight: we don't have any answers We are proposals in a cosmic nursery And these massive stars -- they're just little twinkles If I can't possess them at such magnificence So if you can really hear me, And you really think you believe in it Then there must be some kind of privelege here To putter around with such an existence And if you see me on some stage And you believe it's really me over there Well, there's a chance it's not really me Maybe we're not ourselves at all And maybe being is simply believing that each breath we take in Must lead to another breath out, one more breath away from yesterday and a timeline of yesterdays Filled in with love or with pain or whatever bullshit we smear on our sleeves I've found my cause, and this is it -- There are no answers Am I what I am? Is that what this is? Is this all there is