Every hour at the chalkboard taught me more about the things I knew But couldn't prove to anyone demanding proof until I had a few things all worked through And so I labored through the night until my fingers turned to white I tried to package you and you eluded me each time as if to say I'd never find a box you fit into I abandoned social norms, I became a man absorbed with needing evidence I even tried a couple times to pretend i could deny an answer could exist I plugged in faith and hope and love (at least the closest I could come) and each one wrecked the ship and with each night and each skipped meal Mr. Hyde would take the wheel a little bit The answer looks an awful lot like another question A grim reminder that our design is limited Every answer looks a lot like another question But I can't stop asking I can't stop asking I started swearing at the walls and as my chest would rise and fall it seemed to taunt my brain till in a fit of rage, I clawed to put a silence to the hollow hope that screamed my name But with each piece I could extract, each finger-full continued asking me to show my work Til I collapsed upon the floor, naked and sore and sure I could not even prove it hurt. Then lying face-up on the floor, once more I looked up at the board and i began to cry there amidst the chalk and slate, some wayward blood had found its way and now it caught my eye and the spatter spelled out clearly "everything you know is theory (even your own name)" you don't need proof to have some answers to the questions you've been asking all along the way. The answer looks an awful lot like another question A grim reminder that our design is limited Every answer looks a lot like another question But I can't stop asking I can't stop asking You'll always be a little incomplete but don't throw away the things you do know.