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?