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.