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.