[Intro] [Mood: Melancholic, Introspective, Mock-Epic] [Instrumentation: Solo acoustic guitar, slow rubato fingerpicking] [Vocalist: Male , Spoken Word] I have chronicled murders, blackmail, and the hound that haunted the moor. But nothing prepared me for the morning I found Sherlock Holmes barricaded behind the bathroom door. Scotland Yard could not assist him. Nor apparently could his own cognition. [Break] [Instrumentation: Single acoustic strum, ringing out, followed by silence] [Verse 1] [Tempo: 110 BPM] [Instrumentation: Acoustic guitar driving rhythm, light bass] [Vocalist: Male high-Tenor, nasal, vocal fry, staccato delivery, building tension] His name is Sherlock Holmes, the keenest mind in town. He'd read your guilt or innocence from a footprint on the ground. He solved a hundred murders from a thumbprint or a thread, But a case of gastric terror finally drove him from his head. At Two Twenty-One B Baker Street, I heard a strangled cry. // He shouted, “Watson! Stand back, good sir! My end is surely nigh!” // For three long days he’d strained upon the porcelain throne. No clue, no move, no victory, just a mad and dying groan. [Chorus] [Mood: Explosive, Triumphant, Absurd] [Instrumentation: Heavy distorted rock guitars, crashing cymbals, driving bass] [Vocalist: Over-the-top rock belting, heavy vibrato, layered harmonies] It’s elementary, my dear Sherlock. No shit, that’s the whole affair. Three days deducing nothing while the answer’s on the chair. No shit, Sherlock. No shit at all. The great detective, crying in the bathroom stall. (No shit!) (No shit at all!) [Verse 2] [Instrumentation: Fast acoustic strumming, snare drum driving the beat] [Vocalist: Fast, panicked delivery] He checked the taps for arsenic and wired Scotland Yard. Sent frantic word to Mycroft, drew a chart upon the board. His face has gone the shade of a strangled red tomato. And Mrs. Hudson's at the door. [Female] "Is there anyone I should call?" [Spoken Word: Male Baritone, desperate] "Call the Doctor! No, call a PRIEST!!!" [Pre-Chorus] [Instrumentation: Building snare roll, rising heavy guitars] [Vocalist: Over-the-top rock belting, heavy vibrato, high-Tenor, nasal, vocal fry, staccato delivery, building tension] He grips the sink, he grits his teeth, deduces from his squeaks, That someone poisoned him with a slice of rotten beef. I said, "It's the cheese and the opium, you dumb buffoon." He said, "Impossible, Watson. I would have noticed such a clue." [Chorus] [Instrumentation: Heavy distorted rock guitars, crashing cymbals, driving bass] [Vocalist: Over-the-top rock belting, heavy vibrato, layered harmonies] It’s elementary, my dear Sherlock. No shit, admit defeat. The world’s one mystery you can’t solve is sitting on your seat. No shit, Sherlock. No shit at all. The great detective, crying in the bathroom stall. (Stall!) (Bathroom stall!) [Bridge] [Mood: Gothic, Dark, Tense] [Instrumentation: Stripped down. Pulsing bass, delayed acoustic picking] He found them in the market, glowing with unnatural cheer. A bag of sugar-free gummy bears, the legends were severe. Men spoke of thunder, shame, and ruin pouring out of them. But Holmes cried, “Science fears no bear!” and ate them by the fist. I said, “That is not medicine!” He said, “I'll take anything to assist!” [Build] [Instrumentation: Heavy toms rolling, guitars rising, cinematic swell] A rumble coursed through Baker Street. The wallpaper seemed to pray. The air grew still. The silver bent. The rats ran far away. Holmes looked up with shining eyes, a prophet newly crowned. The building took one breath as if all London heard the sound. [HOOK: Drop to silence] [Instrumentation: Sudden complete silence] [Vocalist: Screamed, isolated] HOLY SHIT! [Instrumental: Glissando guitar] **SQUEAK** HOLY!!! SHIT!!! [Chorus] [Instrumentation: Maximum intensity, wall of distorted guitars, double-kick drums] [Vocalist: Belting at the top of their lungs, massive choir harmonies] It’s elementary, my dear Sherlock. The case was closed at last. The great detective, self-debased, cleared the blockage at last. No shit, Sherlock. No shit at all. The great detective, in the bathroom stall. (No shit!) (No shit at all!) No shit, Sherlock. No shit at all. (No shit!) (No shit left at all!) [Outro] [Instrumentation: Rock groove cuts out. Return to slow acoustic fingerpicking] [Vocalist: Male Baritone, Spoken Word, calm and reflective] The case was closed, or so I foolishly believed. Within the hour, to settle his nerves after a meal of rashers and cheese, Holmes reached past the cocaine and chewed upon some opium seeds. [pause] For some cases, Watson learned that day, Sherlock was truly blind. His opium was the answer to the Mystery Of The Clogged Behind. [End]
