One foot strands before the crib

the other by the casket

A question formed upon stilled lips

is passed on but never asked



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

their paths, their lives, their hearts

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

Small mysteries slowly unfold



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?