The sound of her voice whispers as the train goes by.
My red velvet curtains are bloody as ever
And I can still hear the crickets of my bedroom
Annoying me as I fall deep,
Deep into the shadows and nightmares
of my beautifully horrid imagination.
Like I was saying,
Her voice, my mother.
I run to her and she whispers.
The sound of the train rises again.
At night that conductor is my only friend.