This blanket doesn't seem to work,
when voices are so near.
No matter where the covers sit,
their wailing I still hear.

Perhaps these souls are calling me
their gibberish don't make sense ;
But isn't that what gibberers do
when under false pretense ?

Talking amongst each other,
I wonder what is said ?
Do they plan to take this man
who lays upon his bed ?

Am I being pessimistic ?
All that's good reflects a light.
Am I being rather foolish
to what bumps in the night ?

One hasn't many options
when the chimes toll twelve, you know ;
No matter how we face the facts
there's just nowheres to go.

Skin is raw, blood so thin
and bone of ivory white ;
Listen very closely now,
you'll hear what bumps the night.