In an old and hidden section
Of a Victorian mansion
Lives a man without reflection
In a dark and new dimension
Floating between dusty cobwebs
And the cracks in the crumbling wall
No sound of chains and heavy steps
For no sound the brave-hearted stall
No, no sound of the dead living
But the weeping of the cold wind
The bodies of the brave stif'ning
'Cause of what they wanted to find
Even the dead, resting, turn cold
And their faces become whiter
For behind the deep curtain fold
Hides their omnipotent writer