An inhabitant of the deep past receives a visitor

I could hear your voice at equal volume in every room. Although at first I was frightened that you had already got in, or you were about to get in, I was also sure that you could not get in. It was not allowed. But you were following me. As I passed from room to room on the inside, you went from window to window outside. I did not look out. The blinds were closed. I waited in the dusk, you waited in the day. Your speech was incessant, and repetitive. It filled the rooms. It was the dawn chorus - you had to be, you had to be.  I could not make out the words. Were you desperate, or just insistent? Either way, you did not let up. I paused near the front door, the flap of the letter box was half-opened inwards, and the stream of your words poured in. I understood nothing except that, like a thread which speeds up as it unspools, you were at last about to finish. Upon your final four words, 'you please help me?' I flung open the door. Then, was it the Beatles? You were a slight figure standing in a block of glaring light. I said, 'what am I going to do with all that light?'