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.