Freedom of Choice

I stand here divided, by fear.
My arms stretched out, my intentions sincere.

I stand here, my path undecided
Afraid to move, afraid to be guided.

I stand here, frozen like stone
Which road shall I travel? Both paths seem so lone.

One bathed in light the other hidden in shades,
And another path behind me is starting to fade.

Which path shall I chose? Which road shall be mine?
There will be no going back once I've crossed that line.

I still stand here, divided by fear,
My arms stretched wide, my intentions remaining sincere.

And as I stand here, unsure of my fate,
I do not seem to notice that time is running late.

As seconds turn to minutes and minutes into hours,
I seem to pondering a question one that really towers,

It's said that man has freedom of choice.
But when it really comes down to it, isn't it always someone else who speaks your voice?