43rd Floor - Project Pitchfork

43rd floor

In his room alone

He is scared

But this is home

43rd floor

He looks at his toys

Behind that door

Was again a noise

43rd floor

In the night

It’s three o’clock

That’s the time they fight

43rd floor

The toys are alive

They protected him

A puppet still holds the knife

43rd floor

His soul is sore

But nobody hurts him

Nevermore

43rd floor

What a tragic demis

Blood on the carpet

Encloses the flies

43rd floor

No sound at all

A bizarre still-life

With blood on the wall

43rd floor

In the seventh week

They gnaw the rests

Of a corpse’s cheek

In the next room

Sit the remains

And the beasts

Are catching flames

A fire slowly

Burns the scene

It turns to dust

Forever unseen

The smoke creeps

Under the front door

And keeps the secret

Of the 43rd floor