There's a question in the darknessnThere's a hundred open doorsnThere's a whisper on the stairwaysnIn every second floornYou know all room is infinatenYou know you cannot flynWe try to fill the void with indifferencenAnd watch with orphan eyesnFor him who isnFor him we cannot findnFor him who knowsnWe fill the room with obscure relatives in every second floornnYour seventh sonnYour seventh sister's lover's gonna comenIt's seven stairways to the room where we belongnnThere's a question in the darknessnThere's a hundred open doorsnOur steps injure the dustnAnd we forget what we came here fornThere's a whisper in the darknessnThere are hundred trapsnGleaming eyes on the corridor watching every single stepnnYour seventh sonnYour seventh sister's lover's gonna comenIt's seven stairways to the room where we belongnnWe fill the rooms with fake calmnessnOur eyes persuaded to be blindnYou know all room is infinatenYou know we cannot fly