There are too many sleepy people in the world,
too many sleepy people.
They sleep through truth
and awaken to lies.
What does it take to realize
that no conscious thought
occurs in sleep?
Will they ever stop dreaming
and allow themselves to weep?
There are too many sleepy sheeple in the world,
too many sleepy sheeple.
They follow the herd.
They're silent in word
and flock together to be shorn.
So shorn they shall be.
They'll never be free.
Too sad, too sad I say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem