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.
Chorus
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
Outro
You'll always be // a little incomplete // but don't throw away the things you do know.

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