[Verse 1] Girls like Olive laugh the most, sharp little voice from row to row. Crooked glasses, awkward hair, people notice when you’re strange. I cried there often after class, third stall down beside the taps. Pipes would rattle through the brick, drip-drip-drip and sniff-sniff-sniff. Someone scratched a filthy word, I kept staring while I hurt. Trying not to sob too loud— girls hear crying through a crowd. Then a boy came through the door. Soft voice drifting cross the floor. Strange words curling smooth and low. I thought he meant for me to go. So I opened up the stall— saw two yellow eyes— that’s all. [Hook] Same old lavatory stalls, same wet floor and cracked stone walls. Everybody hates when Myrtle cries— well. You would too if you never stayed alive. [Verse 2] Dreadful thing at fourteen years: everybody disappears. Girls grow taller, prettier too, walk in little laughing groups. Talking boys and Hogsmeade dates, holding hands beside the lake. Like heartbreak’s the worst they’ll know. Funny what they don’t yet know. I flood sinks when I feel cross. Water rushing, mirrors lost. Makes them scream and run away. Sometimes that improves my day. Harry Potter looked half-dead, eyes like someone poorly slept. People carrying too much grief notice others just like me. And young Malfoy crying there— honestly, it wasn’t fair. Boys should never cry like that. Makes the whole room feel quite bad. [Bridge] People say ghosts turn wise with age. Rubbish. I still cry and slam the drains. Still hold grudges years and years. Still get furious when ignored. Still follow students through the pipes listening in most every night. Awful staying just one age, frozen in humiliation strange. Every memory dripping back through cold porcelain and cracks. [Verse 3] Then the Chamber opened wide. Students vanished. Castle frightened. Teachers whispering in halls, locks slammed shut on bathroom doors. Funny thing about my death— nobody cared much at first. Then it turned mysterious instead. Suddenly my bathroom mattered. Harry asked me what I’d seen. Polite voice. Careful with me. So I told him: yellow eyes, great big eyes of sickly light. Then years later came the worst: Tom Riddle had questioned me first. Perfect hair and perfect speech. Hands folded so neat and clean. Didn’t realize till much later he had been my murderer. I stopped using that sink for weeks. [Final Hook] Same old lavatory stalls, same damp mirrors, dripping walls. Everybody groans when Myrtle wails— still. They remember Myrtle’s name.
