[Holmes is reeling from the doctored wine she gave him] I told you to let it breathe. Can you taste the comet?

I can't keep up with your turning tables
Under your thumb, I can't breathe.I won't let you close enough to hurt me, no.
I won't ask you, you to just desert me.
I can't give you, what you think you gave me.
It's time to say goodbye to turning tables.

That was the burden,' she mused, 'laid on me in the cradle; murmured by waves; breathed by restless elm trees; crooned by singing women; what we must rememeber; what we would forget.