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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “The Head Beneath the Pillow”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
She walked a corridor carved from dreams, where silence hummed a funeral tune— each echo stitched in shadow seams, beneath a weeping yolk of moon. Her heels tapped truths the walls ignored, in lacquered steps too sharp for sleep; behind her trailed a suited void, his gaze a blade too blunt to weep. A head half-buried in the floor spoke nothing—but its eyes implored. A pillow, plump with silent screams, rested where someone once had soared. The eggs lay cracked in time’s dry womb, their innards leached into the dust— a whispered oath, a broken bloom, a cradle soaked in curdled trust. Above, the sphere—unchained remorse— dripped thought by thought in oozing streams, its tether twitching like a horse that bucks inside a dying dream. No exit marked the ashen halls, no clocks to name decay or grace. Just her, the void, and crumbling walls— and time’s last mask: a hollow face.
Instructional lyrics
[Intro: Single low piano note rings, faint echoing metallic scrape.] She walked a corridor carved from dreams, where silence hummed a funeral tune— each echo stitched in shadow seams, beneath a weeping yolk of moon. [Verse 1: Cello plays slow, mournful bowing; piano accents between lines.] Her heels tapped truths the walls ignored, in lacquered steps too sharp for sleep; behind her trailed a suited void, his gaze a blade too blunt to weep. [Chorus: Choir swells low and ominous, timpani rolls faint.] A head half-buried in the floor spoke nothing—but its eyes implored. A pillow, plump with silent screams, rested where someone once had soared. [Verse 2: Strings rise in tension, metallic percussion taps irregularly.] The eggs lay cracked in time’s dry womb, their innards leached into the dust— a whispered oath, a broken bloom, a cradle soaked in curdled trust. [Bridge: Piano and strings crescendo, then drop to near silence.] Above, the sphere—unchained remorse— dripped thought by thought in oozing streams, its tether twitching like a horse that bucks inside a dying dream. [Outro: Low piano and cello duet, fading slowly.] No exit marked the ashen halls, no clocks to name decay or grace. Just her, the void, and crumbling walls— and time’s last mask: a hollow face.
Song info
Gothic cinematic; deep piano, low strings, subtle metallic percussion, reverb-drenched male choir accents.
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