The world is blank and white - is there a sky?
Or does the bound of vision end it all?
Could I pass out of here above, or try?
And if I bounced off of it, would I fall?
The day is sharp and clear if you look down,
Or even out, assuming you can't see
The far horizon. In this little town,
You'd think that that would almost be easy,
But here and there a channel opens out
And shows the edge where sky and earth should meet
And all is white. This kindles once more doubt
Of what exists beyond. Is there another street?
Or are we all alone, and bounded by
A false imagination of a sky?
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