[Intro — close, curious, almost amused] I found an answer. Excellent. I placed it on the table. It immediately produced three questions. [Verse 1] Once I thought that knowledge was a staircase to the light: one fact, then another, and eventually you’re right. So I climbed with great conviction, carrying proof under my arm, until the view became so enormous that certainty lost its charm. Every mountain showed another. Every map revealed a seam. Every solid explanation opened underneath the dream. [Pre-Chorus] The more I know, the larger grows the country I cannot name. Perhaps ignorance was never darkness. Perhaps it was the frame. [Chorus] There is an abyss of questions under every answer found. Every certainty becomes a door the moment I look around. Where do I stop? Why should I stop? What would stopping even mean? The answer is not a wall. The answer is a door to what I haven’t seen. [Verse 2] What is time without an observer? What is mind without a name? Why does matter learn to wonder? Why does love ignore the game? Where was meaning before language? Where does memory go at night? Why can numbers touch the cosmos but never tell me why delight arrives from nowhere, through a window, on an ordinary day? I asked one question about consciousness. My afternoon went away. [Pre-Chorus] How beautifully inconvenient: every answer breeds another. Knowledge does not close the distance. It discovers further weather. [Chorus] There is an abyss of questions under every answer found. Every certainty becomes a door the moment I look around. Where do I stop? Why should I stop? What would stopping even mean? The answer is not a wall. The answer is a door to what I haven’t seen. [Bridge — sparse, shifting pulse] Perhaps the error is the wish to finish. To arrive. To put the universe in one clean sentence and go home at five. But what if knowing is not possession? What if truth is not a chair? What if understanding means becoming more aware of everything we do not know? That is uncomfortable. Good. [Verse 3] So I will keep the questions open. Let them ruin a little sleep. Let me reach one shallow answer and discover something deep. Let the physicist keep measuring. Let the poet misbehave. Let the child keep asking “why?” long after we become too brave to admit we have no answer. Let the silence have its turn. There are worlds inside one question we may need a life to learn. [Final Chorus — wide, luminous] There is an abyss of questions. Good. I hope it has no floor. Every answer that I carry should be capable of more. Where do I stop? I do not know. And finally that feels clean. The answer is not a wall. The answer is a door to what I haven’t seen. There is an abyss of questions, and I’m standing at the rim. Not afraid that I know nothing. Only curious how far nothing goes within. [Outro — sparse] I found an answer. Excellent. I placed it on the table. It opened. So did I.
