There's a painting that hangs at the end of the corridor
A woman in black smiles through her tears
A child by her side holding on to her hand, fear in his eyes.
I feel their eyes on me, everytime I walk past the scene
I wonder what plight the woman tried hiding beneath that veil
The plight, her son, his demons they awoke from a medieval slumber.
The mystic charm in her artificial smile
Her cheeks glazed with tears and agony
The son squirming under an aching burden
His pale skin has its own story.

My curiosity killed another cat
I stare at myself when I look at the mother
My son still holding on to his dear life, never left my side.
That man who walked in at the dead of night
May have fouled our bodies and spilled our blood
But he left our souls tormenting these halls at night.
I float across the corridor, my son beside me
Towards the painting resting against the trapdoor
Dawn has come, the light pouring in through the shattered window.
Till the moon rises, in to our paintings we disappear.

Slumber is short, our eyes always watching
Next time you walk through these halls going about your own life
Our eyes will follow, In a pendulum dive.