The hole in the wall is a portal.
and those stains on the ceiling are people.
At night there's a hum from the room next to yours,
and the sound gets louder as it gets to your door.
The moon is a spotlight that's shining on your bed.
It waits for the closet to shut out the dead.
As the faces on the pictures in your house are shifting,
the whereabouts of Fido are yours for the sifting.
You've heard it before, the night's strange noises.
The screaming of crickets as they're hushed from the voices.
They come from the shed of the house of your neighbor.
He's built it at night to cover up his dark labor.
He's seen you watching and he knows you are there.
That sweat from your brow has created a glare.
That unanswered call was the warning of danger.
But the call was from no one, a specter, a stranger.
That heat from the air is your house on fire.
It burns from events that have yet to transpire.
And now you are wondering what secrets we're keeping.
It's the ones that we'll whisper only when you're sleeping.