Whether 'tis minor in the chord to intone
A dimished fifth and offend all ears,
Or to augment the interval to perfection
And, with said chord, ending? To play, to sing
No more - and by such song to say we end
The silence and the cacophonous sound
That ears grow used to - tis a consummation
Devoutly to be heard! To play, to sing.
To sing, perchance off key - ay, there's the rub,
For in that demiflat what dyads come
Make us press "Pause." There's the respect
That makes calamity of many songs.
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