I have walked in deep, dark places,
and crawled through darker, still --
gas-lit slums long after the dusk,
where lamplight failed to spill.

So surprised by fleeting faces
that faded in and out --
like visions from the sleep-drift, they
never loiter about. 

They come, they see, and then they pass --
these alien observers.
They pass with just a fleeting glance,
like someone else's server.

They care not what you think you need,
or who you think you are.
You're just an automaton shopper
within the grand bazaar.