The walls remember what you cannot see,
Their whispers echo when the lights go low,
The house is breathing quietly with me.
A cup slides gently—no hand, no plea,
A shutter slams where no winds blow,
The walls remember what you cannot see.
Your name is spoken—soft, uneasily,
A chill unfolds where shadows grow,
The house is breathing quietly with me.
You lock the door, you turn the key,
But memory finds you, long and slow—
The walls remember what you cannot see.
I am the hush between your plea,
The sigh beneath the floorboards’ glow—
The house is breathing quietly with me.
No priest nor prayer will set you free,
For I am what your heart won’t show—
The walls remember what you cannot see,
The house is breathing quietly with me.