I fly between these places, but there is no way I can know;
I travel to distant lands, that I wish I could call home.
There is no end to the feelings of the loss that I have known.
There is no way to tell you of the life I have outgrown.

And if I were a storyteller I’d have a story to tell,
if I were an artist I’d have somehing to express,
and if this were the answer I’d know what I had asked,
and if I can make it through this, it wouldn’t matter any way.

But I’ll tell a story if I can,
I’ll express this feeling anyway,
and I’ll ask you the question
about all of this.

I don’t know whether this is it, or if it’s just a lie;
don’t know where the answer is but I’ll go to my grave as I try.
There isn’t really anything here I haven’t asked before,
but nothing has been answered yet so with it I’ll endure.

But I’ll tell a story if I can,
I’ll express this feeling anyway,
and I’ll ask you the question
about all of this.

Don’t give me an answer,
for that would end my quest.