What Goes Bumping In The Night

It's 3 AM in the morning,
The old man used to be in bed snoring, but I guess someone must've killed him.
Dragged his body through these halls,
As blood pours down these walls.
The smell of rotting flesh holds in these cellars,
To the cries of these prisoners dying;
It's scary out here all alone,
One night here, you'd wish you were back home.
There's no where to run,
There's no where to hide,
They will find you and get you as they skin you down,
Use you as a new pair of gloves,
Have doves peck your eyes out as you're screaming of pain.
Put you in chains,
Leaving you in blood stains all over,
The wretched smell stays that you really wonder if you're dead or alive.
Oh, how they thrive on your suffering,
They may or may not be bluffing when they say they will kill you, who knows?.
Lurking up and down the floors they go,
Making them afraid to run away.
As those who run in terror would be dragged away across the black night as they are thrown in a white, padded room closed away from the rest of the world.
You're curled up in a ball, crying for a way out, but that only makes him even more mad as he sharpens his knife preparing you for your skinning he smiles and says " don't worry it won't hurt a bit".
And that's what does bumping in the night.