Falling Range

By Thorin N. Tatge

(To “Rhythm of the Rain”, by The Cascades.)

Listen to the rhythm of our falling range,

Telling us our voice has gone away!

I hope it doesn’t go away entirely,

And leave us here to screech and bray.

The music that we care about has flown the coop

Leaping from our diaphragms with haste

But little did we know that when it finally croaked

It took with it our better taste.

Range, please tell me now, does that seem fair

To strain us till our vocal chords are worn and bare

I can't be contented when my voice box feels like a mop.

Listen to the rhythm of our falling range,

Telling us our voice is dead and gone!

I think the thing to do is go into denial

And scrapingly to soldier on.

Range, tell me, is my throat not good enough?

Was it just ennui that made you go?

Range, please be kind to us and bring us all back to ‘do’.

Listen to the rhythm of our falling range,

Telling us our voice has been destroyed!

I think the vocal stylings of a porcupine

Would leave us feeling less annoyed.

Oh, listen to the falling range

Chitter chatter, chitter chatter!

Oh, listen to the swiftly falling range

Ah-oh, oh! Oh-oh, oh!

Ah-oh, oh! Oh-oh, oh!