|
One foot strands before the crib |
|
the other by the casket |
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A question formed upon stilled lips |
|
is passed on but never asked |
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I guess I believe that there's a point |
|
to what we do |
|
But I ask myself is there |
|
something more besides you? |
|
Two are born to cross |
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their paths, their lives, their hearts |
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If by chance one turns away |
|
are they forever lost? |
|
I guess I believe that there's a point |
|
to what we do |
|
But I ask myself is there |
|
something more besides you? |
|
This morning I awoke, |
|
the bed warm where it once was cold |
|
Small blessings laid upon us |
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Small mysteries slowly unfold |
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Yet I still wonder is there a point |
|
to what we do? |
|
'Cause I kind of doubt |
|
that there is something more besides you |
|
Although it's hard to find the point |
|
to what we do, |
|
do I dare believe that there is |
|
something more besides you? |
