Mail on Sunday?

I don’t want to obey Murphy’s Law but I’ve found
That it’s not up to me to follow it – it follows me around
What can go wrong will is almost always true
And when things can’t get worse somehow they still do
When I hit rock bottom I can still fall much more
Since it’s a lot further to get to the Earth’s core
In this case my continued plummet came late Saturday morning
With a call from law enforcement types that served as a warning
That I somehow was the main suspect in her murder
They were totally wrong – I never would hurt her
But the autopsy showed lethal levels of strychnine
Which was on a dart tip that was lodged in her spine
And they were writing a warrant for my arrest
Like I didn’t have enough reason to be depressed
They said to say put, and if I tried to flee
Parole would be out of the question for me


I took a look at my dartboard and as I feared
The tip of one of my darts had disappeared

There were two possibilities – either I had been framed
Or I was nuts and nobody was trying to tarnish my name

I felt fine before Friday morning, but on Saturday sweat was dripping
From me despite a lack of heat and I thought my sanity was slipping
I thought about what I lost and wished my bed was more crowded
I kept my phone off the hook since I didn’t want to talk about it
I still don’t want to say more about what was going through my head
That Saturday when I stayed almost the whole day in bed
I fell asleep without anything else going wrong
Convinced my good fortune would not last very long

The next day was not deficient in shocks
First of all, I found a letter in my mailbox
There has never been Sunday mail as far as I’m aware
But the source of the mail was even more rare
“One Infernal Avenue” was the return address
I hoped that it would explain why my life was a mess
So I opened it and I read
And this is what it said: