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 think you really 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 really believe it's 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 yesterday
  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