realtimeartist

In an old and hidden section Of a Victorian mansion Lives a man without reflection In a dark and new dimension Floating between dusty cobwebs And the cracks in the crumbling wall No sound of chains and heavy steps For no sound the brave-hearted stall No, no sound of the dead living But the weeping of the cold wind The bodies of the brave stif'ning 'Cause of what they wanted to find Even the dead, resting, turn cold And their faces become whiter For behind the deep curtain fold Hides their omnipotent writer