Here is the tale, it's spoken word-for-word,

it may be abominable, but, yes it must be heard.

Nauseating at first, you can expect the worst,

so listen closely, as the plot unfolds...



I might stretch the truth, may be a little lie,

there was a boy named Brad,

he played trumpet, and he died.

Too young for him to cease,

Why? We haven't got a clue,

It's on the internet, so then it must be true.



The untimely death of Brad,

how sad it must have been.

If you see him anywhere,

remember to console him.



I curse the day, I ever met the boy,

Only the good die young, they say.

The details of his death are vague

unbelievable it seems,

as if his passing was only a dream.

Catastrophe, calamity,

what will we tell his mother now?

Cataclysmic, a tragic mishap,

I just heard that their band is breaking up.

I hear his trumpet, his voice rings in my ears,

it sometimes seems he's standing very near.

I don't believe in ghosts,

I've never seen one,

but isn't the trumpet playing haunting on this album?



A day that lives in infamy,

in horror we behold, his passing,

his memory, but the truth must be told.