| Too many questions | |
| But no one seems to know | |
| The value of the answers | |
| Too many fingers and all pointed back at me | |
| Is it because | |
| I was the one who pointed mine first? | |
| I see a problem but maybe it's part of me | |
| Excuses without reasons | |
| I have a conscious inspiring to be | |
| More than a thought that's burning deep inside of me | |
| I see a doorway and | |
| I fumble for a key | |
| How many turns until it opens? | |
| And what will it reveal? | |
| I'm at the center, or is it left of me | |
| When will it open? | |
| On the surface, the smile evades the truth | |
| The words are even cheaper | |
| I ask for something impossible to give | |
| And sit back and watch it all burn |