Pt.3, Red in the Kitchen, Whispers in the Snow

© Copyright 2025 Cloacina & SonicSketch https://suno.com/@cloacina https://suno.com/@sonicsketch Listen to part 1, first: https://suno.com/song/684c4806-1bd1-46ea-83a0-3de347215e0e And part 2: https://suno.com/song/3161cc56-f20c-4337-8a92-6aea4418e348 Sherlock Hoot and Dr. Slothson: the Case of the Missing Techno Beaver [Intro] Hooooot Murder’s a recipe. A pinch of rage. A slice of time. A little heat, a little pressure- Then the blade goes in. [Verse 1] [#vocal- (male voice sung)] DNormous, the octopus, ruled his lair, Knives flashing, arms everywhere. "You think I got time for a dead little rodent?" "Lunch ain't gonna chop itself, detective-move it!" Mushrooms sizzled, knives diced fast, Carrots peeled, meez ahn plahs amassed Keres, the mermaid, was stirring something thick, While Fisk, the fish, plated greens real quick. The penguin, Annie needed dough with steady beat, Saffryn’s tentacles shaped pasta so neat. Sara the Dolphin hummed a low, soft tune, But nothing broke this kitchen’s cocoon. And yet, there-on a tentacle’s skin, A fresh red cut, a story within. DNormous flexed, waved it off, "Sharp knives, dull moments-it’s part of the job." [Chorus] A blade leaves whispers, a wound tells lies, The kitchen’s hot, but the truth won’t fry, A shuffle, a squeak, a scent in the air, Somebody here knows more than they share. [Verse 2] Sherlock turned, feathers sharp as his mind, Then the maytruhdee leaned in from behind. EvilTyromancer, all teeth and charming, "No seafood served here!” His laugh was alarming. He bit into a cucumber large He grinned, gleaming, a predator starved, "But last night? I smelled something carved." "A shuffle, a squeak, a thing out of place," "Empty kitchen, but blood in the sink leaves a trace." His wink cut sharper than the steel at his side, "Believe me, detective-I know when something’s died." A glance through the door-Fisk plating fine, Tyromancer staring... but staying in line. (barely) [Chorus] A blade leaves whispers, a wound tells lies, The kitchen’s hot, but the truth won’t fry. A shuffle, a squeak, a scent in the air, Somebody here knows more than they share. [Bridge] Dr. Slothson moved through winter’s hold, Slow but steady, the story unfolds. Cabins stood quiet, their secrets tight, But teeth had carved their tales in night. A beaver’s mark, raw and rough, Bitten deep in wood—desperate stuff. And there, between the frozen beams, A paper folded, lost now to dreams. "Meet me at our spot at midnight tomorrow." A whisper of ink, a promise, a sorrow. [Outro] Hoooot A cut on a tentacle. A kitchen awake when it should be asleep. A note left behind. Teethmarks telling tales. Sebastian’s in chains… but the ice still murmurs, And I ain’t done listening.