Could there be more To this life we call "mine" Than a journey through space Or a story line? - More to life than the body can sense Than the mind can conclude From experience Does who we are begin with breath, Depend on form or end with death? - Strip away these roles, these names And tell me what remains And who you really are, Who you really are We measure success By the things we accrue Or the bonds that we form, Or the deeds we do But these too shall pass, As hard as we try To hold on to form; form will die But inherent in this dance of form Is the chance to see what's yet unborn And the choice to throw this chance away And be caught up in the play Of who we think we are, Who we think we are This is your lifetime; it could end at anytime. Where is your attention? Where is your prayer? Where is your song? In a fortunate life, Comes a call to be free From the cycle of bondage and misidentity, To wake from the dream And finally realize The truth of one's being Before the body dies So before the final scene is past, See the screen on which it's cast. See what's seeing this me and you. And then you will see who... t Who you really are, who you really are Who you really are, who we really are