You will understand, only if you've encountered him.
Accept the true, be courageous and embrace it.
Darkness isn't the mere absence of light, far from that.
When the Moon rises-and the Sun dies; insomnia comes to work.
Hiding in plain sight, in it's domain of the shades.
Like thick air, no-glue, no-fumes; like blood,
it oozes.
Breathe in, small inhalations and please don't pant
or huff, puff, you'll go down.
He envelopes, like wings ending with deadly talons,
grabbing on to our consciousness and refusing to let go.
You shut your eyes, relax your body and silent your mind.
Pointless-
insomnia takes who ever he wants.
No argument, no discussion and surely no sympathy.
Tic-toc, tic-toc, the rhythmic sound of nothingness,
of incomprehensible fear of the oldest origin.

But not all's lost.
A defender rises from the artic south each night.
Armed with beads of yellow treasure, the gift of the night;
he bravely enters the demonic domain of the ill.
With might, he reaches into his pouch and gathers his jewels-
but calculative he is, there isn't enough to waste.
He peppers the demonic manifestation of unrest with
the gift of lady Moon.
Earthly sand of cosmic derivation shines.
Sandman risks his life and his gifts,
for us, the ungrateful beings.

An episode 3, a compulsory element of the nightly ritual,
it completes the trilogy, ending the sour battle.
A collector comes, a scavenger of the highest order.
Or a historian, some calls.
He gathers the sand and places them in a special jeweled box.
His pride, his dedication; these sand beads fuel him.
He records the scuffle with physical proves.
But he leaves just a bit of sand near the eyes,

To sting us, to remind us, to make us believe.
That every night, a warrior defends our sleep.
The fiendish insomnia attacks everyone, every night.
But the ancient protector, a paladin brawls in our name.
Though sometimes he fails, and we are reduced to angst and madness,
      thank the aged guardian, and pray for his deliverance.

This is the price he has to pay, a prisoner no doubt.
Sandman cries all day, and fights all night.
His only friend, the historian.
Because of a sin worst of it's kind.
The sandman pays with nightly fights.
That's what happens to those who fall.
To Judas and to Lucifer,
that's the price of betrayer.
Those golden runes of sand reminds us,
      to behave yourselves, for there are worst punishment than death.

-Chin