Dear Mr. Watson

My dear Mr. Watson,
cases crack and they close,
but how will they unravel
if we can’t find the bones?
There’s holes in the ceiling,
blood on the floor,
fingerprints on the window,
but who for?

‘Tis a mystery indeed,
moustache twirling and a jacket of tweed.

So my dear Mr. Watson,
I’m afraid it can’t be solved,
I cannot twist and turn the clues with with my magnifying glass,
Maybe I’m too old, no I say

The man has gone insane,
The sort of insane that you snort in cocaine.

It’s time for you to go back home,
Hang up the boots, hang up the coats,
It’s time for me to take over,
No more will I take, no more, no more.

My dear Mr. Holmes,
how does it feel to be under sherlock and key?
I can only imagine the heat from the eyes that you get from the crims that you put inside,
The burn of the pain and the plain of the walls,
Solitary confinement in a single phonecall.

It’s time for you to go back home,
Hang up the boots, hang up the coats,
It’s time for me to take over,
No more will I take, no more, no more.

On the outside it’s much the same,
but the phonecall they make is answered in my name.

It’s time for you to go back home,
Hang up the boots, hang up the coats,
It’s time for me to take over,
No more will I take, no more, no more.

This song is stupid. I don’t say that about many of my songs, though Horizontal Verticality trumps this probably.

It’s about Sherlock Holmes being unable to solve a case because he’s coked out all the time, so Watson gives away his secret and Holmes goes to jail for drug possession (I assume, I wasn’t there) and Watson takes over the business.

Dumbest. Not meaning to say it’s a bad song. I think it’s rather good.