Here is the tale, it's spoken word for word
It may be abominable,
but yes it must be told.
Nauseating at first,
you can expect the worst.
So listen closly as the plot unfolds.

I may strech the truth,
Maybe a little lie.
There was a boy named brad he played trumpit and, he died.
Too young for him to cease,
Why' we havn't got a clue.
It's on the internet so then it must be true.

Chorus
The untimley death of Brad
How sad it must have been.
If you see him anywhere,
Remember to console him.


I curse the day I ever meet the boy.
Only the good die young they say.
The Details of his death are vague.
Unbelieve it seems, As if his passing was only a dream.
Catastrophey, Calamity.
What will we tell his Mother now'
Cataclysmic, a Tragic mishap.
I just heard that thier band is breaking up.

I hear his trumpit, his voice rings in my ear.
It some times seems he's standing very near.
I don't belive in ghosts.
Iv'e never seen one, but isin't his trumpit playing haunting on this albulm'

Outro
A day that lives in Infamy.
In horror we behold.
His passing
His memory
But the truth must be told