There is music that fat

That is where music is at

All the other music just dies at the music store

Like a TV on its last laugh

Laughing at us

Hurts though it is called music

Music so lost in ghost land

To make it seem as if the bog of moss

Where falling into a pit

Though we hear what we like

The music is full of nothing

Empty as a dirty worn out couch

So soft and soft it sinks you

Into an oil spill

Just like the dirt of money

It has nothing

It is not a joke

Clouds darken each day

Pink Floyd was just okay.