Answer:
I grow where no flower grows, where no light touches the walls, up or down, that I don't care, was here before people were.
I heard of a wonder, of words moth-eaten. That is a strange thing, I thought, weird. That a man's song be swallowed by a worm. His blinded sentences, his bedside stand-by rustled in the night - and the robber-guest. Not one wit the wiser. For the words he had mumbled.
Man walks over, and man swims under. In times of war, it can be burned asunder. What is it?
This is in a realm of true and in a realm false, but you experience me as you turn and toss.
What surrounds the world, yet dwells within a thimble?
They are many and one, they wave and they drum, Used to cover a state, they go with you everywhere.