Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who’s the whimsiest of them all?
It is I!
The man who can turn heads
Wearing the flashiest of outfits
From powdered wigs to sequined robes
I swiftly strut my way
From the streets to the stage
Kicked to the curb!
Dressed in Studio 54 reject garb
I appear in gray tweed deerstalker,
Antiquated briar pipe in mouth ready to
Portray everyone’s favorite sleuth
Determined to solve crimes and mysteries
Audiences are shell-shocked
By my unexpected appearance
Clad in powder blue suit, aviator shades,
Fake mustache out to bamboozle used cars
I levitate in the most flamboyant
Of entrances covered in synthetic fog
Arms raised to the heavens giving the crowd
A show to remember in a black hooded cloak
An inexplicable presence puts spectators
In suspense at the edge of their seats
Sew the mouths of chatterboxes shut
You never know what to expect
In the whimsical world
Of the arcane minstrel who will vanish in smoke
