One foot stands 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?