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.