Watson at Twilight
Words by John C. Bunnell © 1994
TTTO The Chambermaid's Dowry by Leslie Fish


'Tis been many years since Victoria reigned
And gaslight burned bright in the dark;
Since street urchins wandered with scarcely a care
Through alley and market and park.
Yet those are the times that come back to me now;
I recall them with honor and pride,
When I lived in Baker Street, wrote for the Strand,
And stood at a brilliant man's side.

Chorus (after every verse but last):
	I still hear his voice,
	And smell his vile shag,
	And his is the London I see,
	Where hansom cabs clattered o'er cobblestone streets,
	And Holmes lived at 221B.

I never have known what he saw that first day,
When we met in the halls of St. Bart's;
There must have been more than he chose to relate
Laid bare to his deductive arts.
Whatever it was, though, I cannot express
The size of the debt that I owe
For purpose put back in a lonely man's life;
I think even he does not know.

	I still hear his voice,
	And smell his vile shag,
	And his is the London I see,
	Where hansom cabs clattered o'er cobblestone streets,
	And Holmes lived at 221B.

In many ways, Holmes was a difficult man,
His habits, a trial and a curse;
He dabbled in chemistry, shot up the walls,
He entertained beggars, and worse.
I never knew who might turn up in our rooms,
Then prove to be Holmes in disguise;
And yet, through it all, something always outweighed
The mischief he loved to devise.

	I still hear his voice,
	And smell his vile shag,
	And his is the London I see,
	Where hansom cabs clattered o'er cobblestone streets,
	And Holmes lived at 221B.

At no time was Holmes truly happy, of course,
Save when in the midst of a case;
The darker the web, the more twisted the skein,
The better he relished the chase.
A foe who could match him in genius was rare
(Moriarty was one  and Irene);
And when the full truth might serve only to harm,
He'd not speak of all he had seen.
	
	I still hear his voice,
	And smell his vile shag,
	And his is the London I see,
	Where hansom cabs clattered o'er cobblestone streets,
	And Holmes lived at 221B.

But those days are gone and a new order reigns,
Where the cabbies drive horses of steel;
Old London is not what it was, nor am I,
As the years bring my body to heel.
Some say this new age has outgrown Sherlock Holmes,
That he's long out of pace with the times;
If so, 'tis a world I'll not sorrow to leave,
One where honor and friendship are crimes.

Final chorus:
I still hear his voice,
And smell his vile shag,
And his is the London I see  
Where hansom cabs clatter o'er cobblestone streets,
And Holmes lives at 221B.