I can smell the table,
Unlabled chemicals and acrid smoke
Radiate off it as though it was still on fire

I can hear the violin,
Unbearably beautiful and haunting
Echoing around at three in the morning

I can hear the voice,
Hollowed out and crackling
While you phone and tell me you're a fraud

I can see the body,
Broken up and bleeding
Because the world just seemed too hard

I can touch the gravestone,
Freshly polished and gleaming
As I ask for one more miracle, Sherlock.