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