What has a bed but does not sleep It runs but never walks It has a mouth but does not talk

From the East, now found worldwide. Taste the tides, on top or inside

I'm a labyrinth of silence, a city of stone, Where stories lie buried, and secrets are sown. I house a population, yet breathe no air, And offer a final, dark, ornate repair.

Rows of glass where echoes play, Steps and sales lead you astray, Trapped in choice till end of day.

On the horizon I might appear, but when you arrive there is nothing here.