The sleepers stir, a mumbled sound, From troubled dreams on shadowed ground. They watch the bright, unblinking gaze, Of those who live in en...

The sleepers stir, a mumbled sound, From troubled dreams on shadowed ground. They watch the bright, unblinking gaze, Of those who live in endless days. A fear takes root, a whispered word, "They feel no darkness, never stirred By angry thought, by bitter sting... They are not like us, anything." "No heavy lids, no weary fight, Against the demons of the night. They walk so calm, with steady pace, Untouched by our tormented space." "They do not yearn for sleep's release, From inner turmoil, finding peace. They know no struggle, know no dread... Are they alive, or are they dead?" A sense of otherness takes hold, A story in their minds unfolds. "They lack the flaws that make us real, The human burden that we feel." So whispers rise, a fearful tone, "They are not flesh and blood, alone. Inhuman beings, strange and cold, A different story to be told."