Lyrics

Here is the tale, its 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 Maybe 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