[Intro: Delicate, eerie fingerpicked acoustic guitar in the style of Ed Sheeran and Hozier. The percussion is made entirely of fingernails scratching on wood and muffled knocks] [Sound Effect: Scratch... scratch-scratch... knock] [Verse 1: Hushed, folk-storyteller tone in the style of Ed Sheeran, close and dry mix] The surveyor told me the joists were all sound Just Victorian timber settling into the ground "Old houses have voices," he laughed with a shrug As I rolled out the corners of the hallway rug First week in November, the frost on the pane I heard a light scurry like sleet in the drain Right behind the floral paper by the chimney breast Something too heavy for a starling's nest [Pre-Chorus: A second, faster acoustic guitar loop kicks in, rhythm tightens] I pressed a glass tumbler flat against the lime And heard a wet wheezing keeping three-quarter time Not mice in the wainscot, not rats in the lath Something is pacing a two-foot-wide path [Chorus: Urgent, raspy folk-pop vocals in the style of Ed Sheeran and Mumford & Sons, driving acoustic strums] Behind the walls, between the studs and the brick The plaster is thin and the breathing is thick There's a corridor running right through my domain Where the sunlight can't reach and the spiders complain Every portrait I hang has its eyes gouged away So the tenant inside can watch me all day Yeah, the mortar is crumbling, the skirting boards bow There's somebody living in the drywall now [Verse 2: Tempo feels slightly more frantic, cello drone enters underneath] My silver-plated teaspoons have vanished by threes Along with a jar of pickled cocktailries I found a small smudge of tallow and soot By the ventilation grate near the staircase foot Last night as I read in the wingback chair A draught blew across me that smelled of wet hair I looked at the rosebud design on the frieze And two little pupils were blinking between the leaves [Pre-Chorus: Loop pedal stacks three vocal harmonies, percussive guitar slapping grows aggressive] I grabbed the claw hammer from under the sink My knuckles were white on the hickory link I shouted, "Get out! This deed is in my name!" And the whole room erupted in a knocking game [Chorus: Louder, more desperate, bass drum stomps enter] Behind the walls, between the studs and the brick The plaster is thin and the breathing is thick There's a corridor running right through my domain Where the sunlight can't reach and the spiders complain Every portrait I hang has its eyes gouged away So the tenant inside can watch me all day Yeah, the mortar is crumbling, the skirting boards bow There's somebody living in the drywall now! [Bridge: A massive, frantic Bloodstream-style loop-pedal build-up. Guitars, stomps, and scratching sounds layer higher and faster] (Scratching at the plaster, digging at the lime!) (He's been in the cavity since eighteen-ninety-nine!) I swung the iron claw right into the floral wall Expected to hit brick, hit nothing at all A crawlspace of rib-bones and yellowed newsprint And a dozen old spectacles catching the glint Then four pale fingers wrapped around my wrist And pulled the hammer straight out of my fist! [Verse 3: Full folk-rock explosion in the style of Ed Sheeran and Florence + The Machine, pounding drums and thrashing guitars] The lath is splintering! The wallpaper tears! They're pouring like maggots down the back of the stairs! Not one, but a family, translucent and bent Who never moved out and who never paid rent! They've got nails made of slate and teeth made of brass And they're boarding the windows and smashing the glass! [Chorus: Maximum chaotic intensity, screaming backing vocals, racing rhythm] Behind the walls, between the studs and the brick! The plaster is gone and the bodies are thick! They've taken the parlour, they've taken the hall! And they're bricking me up in the dining room wall! [Outro: Abrupt cut of all instruments except one muffled, distant acoustic guitar and the sound of wet mortar being troweled] [Vocal Style: Muffled, panicked, sounding as if recorded inside a tiny wooden box] Trowel on the plaster, smooth out the seam Roll on the wallpaper, floral and clean I'm wedged between the chimney and the oak support beam Looking out through the eyes of a painted pastoral scene Wait—I hear the front door unlocking below The estate agent's showing a couple the flat [Whispered with a sudden, manic grin] And I'm scratching my fingernails... just... like... that. [Sound Effect: Three sharp fingernails scratching on wood] [End]
