The walls are speaking, low and slow,
Their words are poison, soft as snow,
A hollow echo, deep below,
Where shadows creep, and secrets grow.

I hear them calling, night and day,
Voices that never fade away,
They tell me things I dare not say,
Of places where the lost decay.

Beneath the floor, the rats will feast,
While in the dark, the spirits reach,
And I am bound to never leave,
For those who listen never breathe.