I didn't know half of the people attending his funeral. I believe that most of them showed up because he didn't 'die a coward' this time. They felt like they owed him something. Like they needed to pay ther respect because they had only started to believe in him again. It makes me sick.
If tears could build a stairway,
It still feels like falling. I tripped and fell and I won't quite hit the ground. Hell, I've been there before. I'm still waiting for the impact. This time I know that he won't come back. I know that this was final. I am aware that my friend is dead, I'm believing it. But I'm not willing to admit it. I'm still falling.
and memories a lane,
How could I blame him? Everyone knew that Sherlock Holmes wouldn't get a chance to grow old. No one could've imagined him rocking in a chair, watching over his grandchildren, or playing bingo. To be honest, I'm almost glad that he'll never have to wittness how his brilliance is taken away by a disease. I know that he wouldn't have wanted that. I know that he would've wanted to die in dignity. He did, in a way. And yet it feels like the world has lost it's sun. I have lost my sun.
I'd walk right up to heaven
I talk about how much we've all lost and how he was the most brilliant man I've ever known. When they ask me about him, I tell them that he died too young. I tell them that he will always be the most remarkable, most honorable person I've known and the most loyal friend to me.
I am crushed by what's left unsaid.
and bring you home again.
