Such Stuff as Dreams are Made On

Grayscale Babylon
A Dream in Black and White

The bodies of giant angels, rotting in the woods
We climbed upon their corpses while the ants crawled underfoot
Fallen from a skyward battle
On whose side we couldn’t tell
But their peaceful faces seemed to say that they’d never been to Hell


There’s a rush of refugees always slogging through my dreams
down lonely roads and darkened streets or fording swollen streams
The pictures come in shades of grey
and I know the scenes by heart
A spoiled people now afraid in a country in the dark

It's more of that sleep twilight stuff.
Picture stolen from.