Answer:
To cross the water I'm the way, for water I'm above. I touch it not and, truth to say, I neither swim nor move.
I work when I play and play when I work.
Something wholly unreal, yet seems real to I. Think my friend, tell me where does it lie?
You heard me before, yet you hear me again, then I die. Until you call me again.
Never alive but practically extinct. How we miss the letters pressing the ribbon of ink. What is it?
What covers its face with its hands, speaks no language, yet most known what it's saying?