The Wall That Whispers Wrong

[slow, sinister intro] [dissonant clean guitar, distant breathing] Night has no furniture. Only corners. Only the white tongue of the wall. I lie nailed to my mattress, awake like a dead insect, counting teeth in the plaster. Something inside the brickwork learns my name incorrectly. It whispers. Not with mouth. Not with throat. With little alphabet legs scratching under the paint. [building tension] There is a slit in the room. A thin mistake. A wound between wallpaper and the law of the world. I put my eye to it. [short scream] [feedback swell] Behind the wall the sky hangs upside down. Houses crawl on elbows. The moon chews glass. A choir of blind spoons rings inside a horse skull. And the eyes— hundreds, maybe only one eye repeated by panic— they do not sleep. [pre-choir] [half-spoken, half-growled] They see me through the crack. They lick the air around my bed. open the square. open the hinge. open the bone-door. open, little meat-key. [choir] [deranged screams over slow crushing riff] THE WALL IS NOT WALL THE ROOM IS NOT ROOM MY NAME IS A NAIL MY HEART IS A BROOM Sweep me into their black kitchen. Boil me in window-soup. Hang my shadow from the ceiling until it learns to bark. [blast beat eruption] [rasender black metal outburst] They come beside the bed— paper heads, candle teeth, arms folded wrong, knees like broken ladders. One wears my father's silence. One wears a clock full of flies. One has no face, but every face is inside it. They knock on the window from the inside. we are cold in the wrong world. we are many in the thin world. let us become your weather. [abrupt stop] [one bass note] I hold the latch. For three nights. For seven. For a month made of teeth. My hands become candles. My sleep becomes a chair with no floor beneath it. The whispers grow fat. They sit in the bread. They sing through the pipes with the voice of drowned chalk. [melodic intermission] [bleak unstable lead guitar] I try to pray, but the prayer walks backward. I try to speak, but words come out as insects. Dear God, remove the wall. Dear wall, remove God. Dear nothing, answer in human. [pre-choir] [voice cracking] Again I look through the breach. Again the wrong country turns its head. A black sun rises sideways. A river climbs the clouds. A woman made of bells births rats into a mirror. The eyes are closer now. They have learned my breathing. They wear my fear like church clothes. [choir] [fractured screams and whispers] THE WALL IS NOT WALL THE ROOM IS NOT ROOM MY NAME IS A NAIL MY HEART IS A BROOM Sweep me into their black kitchen. Boil me in window-soup. Hang my shadow from the ceiling until it learns to bark. [slow guitar solo] [dragging doom section] My courage peels away in My courage peels away in soft grey strips. I am not brave. I am only delayed. The latch shines. The pane breathes. The crack smiles wider than architecture allows. I hear them dancing without legs, laughing without sound, counting my bones in advance. [bridge] [tempo rising] Then I open. Not the door. Not the window. I open the mistake. [full scream] [blast beat, tremolo chaos] And they pour in. Not like water. Not like smoke. Like a black parade of impossible grammar. A flood of elbows. A storm of wet masks. Tongues dragging bells. Hands carrying little dead suns. They fill the bed. They fill my mouth. They fill the room behind the room until the world coughs open. [breakdown] [crushing riff, hysterical shrieks] O misery, fat and laughing— the streets bend down to drink them. Churches crawl into sewers. Dogs speak Latin to the rain. A second city hangs in the sky, upside down, ringing with teeth. The creatures take the roads. They take the houses. They take the names from every door. They crown themselves with curtains. They steer the earth with a dead man's tongue. [radio voice] [thin, distorted] No report can verify this. No witness remains rectangular. The incident began inside a private wall at approximately never. Do not listen to plaster. Do not answer windows. Do not feed unknown mouths after midnight. [radio degrading] I am still here. Or something wearing my here. My life is grey paper now. My skin forgets morning. I eat dust. I sleep in the corner. I laugh when the ceiling bleeds. And still they whisper. Not behind the wall. Inside it. Inside me. [final outburst] [fast black metal eruption] OPEN OPEN OPEN OPEN THE WALL HAS LEARNED TO WALK THE ROOM HAS LEARNED TO HATE THE EYES ARE IN THE BREAD THE DOOR IS MUCH TOO LATE [ending] [fading guitar] [radio static] little meat-key… open again. [slow fadeout] [end]