Echoes in the Walls

(Dawn Isbell Wilson)

I wrote this song to round out my Halloween trilogy. This was inspired by a recent story I read about The Chelsea Hotel. I was actually looking to write a story about the haunted Cecil Hotel in San Francisco. I pivoted to The Chelsea because of its deep connection with writers, painters, photographers, poets, and musicians. And, of course, because of the reports of haunted rooms, hallways and elevators. The Chelsea Hotel is considered by some to be one of the most haunted places in all of New York City. Many notable artists, including writers like Mark Twain and Arthur Miller, artists like Jackson Pollock and Andy Warhol, and musicians like Janis Joplin and Bob Dylan, and many others, have stayed there over the decades since first opened its doors. According to eyewitness accounts, spirits of deceased residents still roam the hotel's halls to this day. The first ghostly appearance was said to have been a woman named Mary who hanged herself on the fifth floor. No one knows her last name or the exact circumstances of her suicide, but she is tied to the tragedy of the Titanic. Welsh poet Dylan Thomas died at the Chelsea Hotel in 1953 at just 38 years old. Perhaps the most tragic and disturbing event in the hotel's history was the 1978 murder of Nancy Spungen, the girlfriend of Sex Pistols bassist Sid Vicious.

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Verse 
She survived the sea but not her grief 
And in the crowd, she walked alone 
The walls could sense her deep despair 
As she climbed the winding stairs 
She was the first of tales confided 
Of haunted halls and uninvited 
 
Chorus 
A building holds the anguish 
Of those who walk its halls 
And those who came before us 
Might echo back our calls 
 
Verse 
A gust of wind from sealed doors 
Past guests have so related 
In the dark, a floating face 
Seen for a moment, left no trace 
From Mary to Dylan to Nancy 
The walls saw death and tragedy 
 
Chorus 
A building holds the anguish 
Of those who walk its halls 
And those who came before us 
Might echo back our calls 
 
Verse 
He went to mock the stories 
He knew they weren’t true 
He picked the room where Dylan died 
Stayed up late, eyes open wide 
No apparition did he see 
Still his death’s a XXXXXXX 
 
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© Dawn Isbell Wilson 2025