What is it that makes us all feel,
As if we must know our purpose?
If I had invented the automobile,
Would you assign that to me, or could I, let's say, lead a circus?

Would I then be named a car master, you know,
The one whom they name taskmaster, if you forget to oil a caster?
Or could I make use of my skills elsewhere,
On a trapeze or rope, high in the air… or a desk, handing out healthcare?

If I am unsure of what it is that I most want,
Why can you not allow me retrospection enough,
That I may find affection with something, rather than weeded through natural selection.
Is it not your responsibility to bear? Am I asking too much?

From progress we find, that often there are those,
Who give up on a dream, and perhaps unbeknownst, fuel those for others.
It is, in this way of course, time that with which I dare to take,
To understand my own purpose. What is it that I can make?

Because if you are to believe my logic listed here,
It would stand to reason that I might quickly seek my dream career,
Less of course, I run the risk of being stuck here where I am,
Fueling the dream career of all those unlike myself, yeah,
That’s the dream they all share.