The Manor's Whisper

[Track 1 of the concept album "The Abyss Gazes Back"] Upon the moor where night takes hold and daylight dares not tread, A house of gables grim and tall lifts whispers to the dead. Its walls are etched with crawling script that none alive can read, And from its depths a summons spreads, a call the curious heed. The lord of stone, his shadow stretched, now waits in candle’s glare, A figure carved of withered oak, with eyes like glass laid bare. “Come forth,” he breathes, “and seek the truth beneath this ancient spire, Where secrets writ in eons past still burn with nameless fire.” The letters reached in measured time, each scribed with artful care, The ink a shade too black to fade, the seals too thick to tear. To scholars lost in maddened lore, the missives seemed divine, Their fragile minds ensnared by words that writhe between the lines. Eleanor, with steely poise, spoke riddles as she read, A woman sharp as splintered glass, where reason feared to tread. Maggie’s eyes, a spark of youth, still burned for hidden lore, While Edwin’s gaze betrayed the weight of sins he'd long ignored. Together drawn, they found the moor, the manor standing tall, Its doors agape like open jaws, devouring them all. A feast was laid in tarnished gold, with crystal dulled by time, The air was thick with scents of rot, yet laced with floral thyme. Their host, unbroken by the years, held court with twisted grace, His words a hymn to dread and awe, his smile a pale embrace. “The sub-basement,” he intoned, “a mystery profound, A labyrinth of winding veins beneath this hallowed ground. What lies within, I dare not say; my tongue is bound by oath. But you, my guests, are free to seek, if courage spurs you both.” Through every breath, the house did sigh, its presence faintly known, A heartbeat thrumming through the walls, a whisper carved in stone. The stairs that led to hidden truths seemed older than the grave, And through the gloom, a spectral glow betrayed what knowledge gave. The first step down, a sacred breach, where none but fools would tread, For in that dark the manor spoke, though none could hear what said. A final toast, their glasses raised, the host’s words filled the air: “To those who chase the fathomless, be warned, but do not care. The truth, once glimpsed, may strip the mind of all it holds as true. So drink, my friends, and find below what waits to welcome you.” And so they drank, and so they stood, descending, one by one, The house exhaled, the host withdrew; the night had just begun.