all lined up

all of our choices give the same result
we aren't allowed to step another way
we cannot cheer and we cannot exult
that we have seen a different sort of day
roads twist and turn each having its own trend
we can't be sure we've followed the right path
but every one of them comes to an end
and then we each come to the aftermath
we might have chosen some form of pretense
claimed that we knew our goals and did not lie
tried to disguise the fact we rode the fence
and that the world would simply pass us by
the ones who follow they at least won't rue
the fact that we'd departed from the true