There's not a morning I begin

without a thousand questions

running through my mind.

That I don't try to find the reason

and the logic in the world

that God design.

The reason why, a bird was given wings

if not to fly, and praise the sky

with every song it sings.

What's right or wrong,

where I belong

whithin the schem of things.



And why have eyes that see

and arms that reach

unless you're meant to know there's

something more.

If not to hunger for the meaning of it all

then tell me what a soul is for.

Why have the wings unless you're meant to fly

and tell me please why have a mind

if not to question why



And tell me where,

where is it written what it is I'm meant to be

That I can't dare to have the chance to

pick the fruit of every tree

or have my share of every sweet imagined possibility.

Just tell me where, where is it written, tell me where.



If I were only meant to tend the nest

then why does my imagination sail

accross the mountains and the seas

beyond the make-believe of any fary tale

why have the thirst if not to drink the wine

and what a waste to have a taste

of things that can't be mine.



And tell me where,

where is it written what it is I'm meant to be

that I can't dare to see the meanings

in the mornings that I see

or have my share of every sweet imagined possibility.

Just tell me where, where is it written, tell me where.



Or if it's written anywhere