I'm a terrible murdrah! And anyone of you bobbies or chief inspectors trying to make a name for you, yourself, to track down the well-laid tracks of the would-be infamous perpetratah whose left clues strewn all over scenes not technically crimes due to the missed or messed-up commission of whatever acts I may have had planned, may've intended but maybe I stopped by at the wrong times, so that it was inconvenient, and, well, if that's what you're trying to do if that's who you're trying to sniff out or track down then, look no further than this suspicious person right here! I'm a terrible murdrah!
That was an if / then statement, if this, then that - and it just follows that my spree of nearly horrible crimes cannot be stopped, not yet, not now, before it's truly well begun and while the evidence falls far short of the standard for conviction. And my convictions won't let me stop, until I've given them all something to catch me with, but at the same time I'd far better rather, it'd be far better for the families of the victims and for the victims as well if they could somehow all step in and put two and two together before I get any better, and let's hope they do because I'd hate to see that happen. I'm a terrible murdrah!
You might not even know it to see it, to see me, to witness the rather competent ways in which I appear to go about my daily routine business as if no big deal, as if I got all this all wrapped up in the style of life and all nothing out of the ordinary, and yea-ah, the general impression you get there is quite right-on as far as it goes, I'm indeed quite well-capable of life, and the dealing with of it in general, but that's where the dealing of death comes in, though...! You'd never know of it or even think of it, but so I have to admit: I'm a terrible murdrah.
Somebody stop me please. Somebody stop me. No, I mean it. I suck at this. I can't murdah for shit. I'm a terrible murdrah.
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