Little boy, where are you going?

Look at all the amazing things you are doing!

Your imagination runs wild. Where will you go?

You're here!

You're there!

You are everywhere!

Go get 'em, space cowboy!

O’ my hero!

All the bad guys best beware!

Little boy. What's the matter?

Pick yourself up and try again.

This time it will be better.

You don't lift your head as high,

your eyes don't shine as bright.

Stop dragging your cape and put it back on.

It's time to go back into the fight!

Scratched and bruised, you stumble and fall.

Get up! You have to win, after all.

The clouds have come,

the stars now dimmed.

Your footsteps echo where laughter once lived.

Little boy, where are you going?

That's the wrong way!

Think about what you are doing!

Open your eyes! You made it…

Where the dreamers stay.

But your eyes stay closed.

You walk slower, softer,

as if the ground itself were drifting you to sleep.

The night parts like a curtain,

and the road before you glows pale and thin,

a silver ribbon leading into habitual sin.

No voices.

No wind.

Just the hush of a thousand bare feet drifting again and again.

And you follow, quiet as snow.

To where the sleepwalkers go.