On this boulevard I know not where I’m heading
It boasts of all that is but not of what I call for
Surrounded by the forces of the fair and depraved
I’m in the middle of its endless night
Taught to believe in what may or may not
Forced to tread on fallen stars on such treacherous ground
So evident the truth and the lies, both easy which you choose
Told to conceive the unimaginable, written on ancient scripts
Or dine with the reprobate, eating nothing but lust
How can I hope for what I do not believe exists?
Or trust what they have to say?
How can I now say I have a better home at the end of this road
Is it even there or make believe is it? Could even be a wild goose chase
I trust the sun and the shadow behind it even the giver of this life
Even trust there is an essence of immortal perfection behind it all
But blame me not if I refuse to believe in the bridge or ditch at this end
Because this boulevard is the only bridge or ditch there is to me
The only place my glee and grief is recycled
The imperfect trifling life with mysteries which may never be deciphered.
Wherever this leads, if its sunny, then I’d anticipate
If not, wish me be in the middle forever.