Cracks in the Ceiling Whisper

​(Instrumental starts with a slow, heavy, pulsing synth drone and a faint, distorted electrical hum)

​(Spoken word, low and raspy, barely a whisper over the drone):

​"They never stop watching."

"The cameras blink like dead stars."

"Check the corners... check your skin."

​(A sudden, sharp, percussive hit)

​(Lyric, sung in a monotone, detached voice):

​Woke up this morning to a ceiling that cracked a smile,

Every breath I took was audited for a mile.

The drain in the tub is whispering my name,

Just another day in the mechanical game.

​(The main beat drops—heavy and industrial—leading into your first verse)

​(Verse 1)

The wallpaper's weeping, a slow, viscous slide,

Faces emerge from where shadows once hide.

They watch from the plaster, their eyes never blink,

Just damp, silent judgment, on the edge of the sink.

The faucet drips rust, a rhythm so slow,

Marking the seconds where sanity goes.

​(Chorus)

And the hum of the fridge is a whisper tonight,

"You're not quite yourself, not holding on tight."

The floorboards are breathing, a shallow, choked sigh,

While the dust motes are dancing in a dead, silver eye.

Every crack in the ceiling holds secrets untold,

A story of rot, growing bitter and cold.

​(Verse 2)

My reflection's a stranger, with teeth too precise,

A smile that unhinges, a venomous vice.

I trace the faint lines where the memories flee,

Leaving just blanks, where I used to be.

The air's thick with something, a cloying sweet dread,

Like lilies blooming vibrant, from a fresh, shallow bed.

​(Bridge)

They say silence is golden, but this silence can flay,

Peeling off layers of logic each day.

The static on the radio hums a dark tune,

Echoing whispers beneath a blood moon.

Is this what it's like when the fibers all fray?

Just waiting for shadows to carry you away.

​(The main instruments and heavy beat start to break down and distort. The tempo slows to a crawl, focusing on a repeating, high-pitched synthetic whine and a very deep, irregular thumping sound.)

​(Lyric, sung with extreme weariness, almost a gasp):

​The ceiling finally came down, but only on my chest,

Just enough weight to steal the silence from my rest.

Tried to scream the rot out, but the air was too old,

And the silver eyes are smiling, they finally took hold.

​(Music fades dramatically, leaving only the high-pitched whine and the erratic, deep thumping.)

​(Spoken word, extremely close-mic'd, sounding wet and panicked, slowly panning from left to right in the mix):

​"It wasn't the walls."

"It was the mirror."

"No, it was the breathing."

"It was me."