When the moon no longer shines,
and the stars no longer dot the sky,
and the landscape's laying undefined,
then they stalk the land and suck your life.
Nightmares are a special thing, those
which drink your life and eat your eyes,
and leave behind death and blood and strife,
those evil things with sharpened teeth in rows.

And yet when the sun is roused from sleep,
and the sky is bright and pale and gray,
the nightmares which we thought so deep,
were really creatures drawn on air,
their evil grins were just as fake
as tales and scary books of death and pain.
And in our dreams we do not go astray,
for fear of nightmares from which we do not wake.

In our nighttime wanderings we often wander,
into lakes and dark and misty caves,
where nightmares live and thrive and love,
and where very little keeps us from our graves.