Beethoven's Funeral
Broken records pile up, thousands of people line up.
Unspoken records broken, not true tokens taken.
May I please go deaf, the sight is bad enough.
The vibrations numb, the mute be not dumb.
Two will form a crowed, thousands are allowed.
We all need treatment for these bleeding ears.
Raise your right arm for an excuse.
Wiggle fingers.
Raise your left for complaints as a critic or nay-sayer.
If this is good, don't forget your toothbrush, don't forget to write.
Close the sliding door.
I'll think of you as I wait on the ocean floor.
