Why do we keep adding question marks to everything?

I see a train in the distance
down the winding rails
The steam emanates
from old oak trees
Somewhere the rain decides to fall
 in a quiet lost place
My young life was a fading number
on the last page where the verse is read backwards
and the moths decide to join in
How tall are the mountains, how slick are the banks
where the moss overgrown smells like strange cabbage!
During the rain a mother sings a love song
to her children
and the tall shadows lean in
the wheat glowing under the silver moon
a broken window reveals a skeleton key
on a dust covered desk
And you reach in
The scent of leaves mixed with dirt and rain
Restless spirits dragging old chains
and the black and white photo on the wall of nothing
in particular above the scorched fireplace
this heap of life
burning beneath the dim stars
in a mottled whimper