Shrieks resound throughout my room
Without escape, they know their doom
Uttered from plastic holey tube
Given to every third-grad rube
In grim attempt at melody
They even now would rather flee
Than sound in mockery of song
Delivered technically not wrong
Except when twisted out of shape
The tuning causes eyes to gape
And half steps off of almost right
Are painful heard in peaceful night
Despite their wishes notes still burn
And still my playing fingers churn