What's the Point

Oh, what's the point of singing all this songs you've heard before Oh, what's the point of writing all this stories you might ignore, But I'm scared to dead to lose my voice and words As long I got stories still to tell As long I got songs left to sing as well. I keep going on and will never quit or disappear, And I keep going on... Oh, wouldn't be me, Like a look without the keys Oh, it wouldn't be me, Like sailing without seas. Oh, it wouldn't be me, Like a cold without tea. Oh, it wouldn't be me, Like a garden without trees, Like autumn without raking leaves. Oh, what's the point of writing tales that stay untold forever. Oh, what's the point of still singing songs that no one will remember. But I am scared to death to lose my sense of hearing, As long as there are songs left unheard, As long as there is just a single word. I keep going on and will never quit or disappear. I keep going on and I will stop at nothing, Will never quit or flee or disappear. Oh, it wouldn't be me, Like a lock without keys. Oh, it wouldn't be me, Like sailing without seas. Oh, it wouldn't be me, Like a cold without tea. Oh, it wouldn't be me, Like a garden without trees, Like autumn without raking leaves.