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