The House That Whispered My Name

The House That Whispered My Name

There was a house at the end of the road,
Where nobody lived and nobody stayed,
The windows were broken, the garden was wild,
But something inside seemed strangely alive.

I heard someone whisper my name one night,
I stood at the window beneath the moonlight,
I told myself it was only the breeze,
But something was moving among the old trees.

I opened the door and stepped inside,
With nothing but darkness on either side,
The floorboards creaked beneath my feet,
And somewhere upstairs I heard someone weep.

I climbed the stairs though I wanted to run,
The room at the top had no door on it,
There was an old chair facing the wall,
And a photograph hanging above it all.

I picked up the picture and started to cry,
Because the face in the picture was mine,
But I was much younger than I was that day,
And someone was standing beside me in grey.

I turned around but nobody stood there,
Yet I felt someone’s fingers touch my hair,
Then came a whisper soft as the rain,
You left me here, then forgot my name.

I ran from the house and never looked back,
I left that old photograph on the track,
But sometimes at night when the wind starts to blow,
I hear that old whisper wherever I go.