He Died Fighting For What

A German Philosopher Once Wrote That He Who Fights Monsters Must Take Care That He Doesn't Become One Himself.

Then Why Don't You Go And ---- Yourself.

All That Sadness. All That Anger. It Is The Smoke That Gets Into Your Eyes. If You Do Not Blow It Away, How Can You Hope To See?

I Hear It Still. As I Lay Down My Pen And Take To My Bed, I Am Aware Of The Bow Being Drawn Across The Bridge And The Music Rises Into The Night Sky. It Is Far Away And Barely Audible - But There It Is! A Pizzicato. Then A Tremelo. The Style Is Unmistakable. It Is Sherlock Holmes Who Is Playing. It Must Be. I Hope With All My Heart That He Is Playing For Me . . .

What Happened?" He Demanded. "i Heard An Explosion!" "yeah.that Was Me. I Set The Boat Alight." "what?" "i Set Fire To The Boat." "but We're On The Boat!" "i Know.