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