The bass fades in, nice and slow,
fading out again for a moment of silence.
The flash of a flute in the distance,
a slow cymbal shaking into existence,
cellos driving out a deep and quiet rhythm.
The tin whistles of frightened seabirds
fly for shelter from the rising and falling
of bassoons floating in the dark sky.
The conductor unleashes a mighty roar
from his orchestra and gone again,
the violins with their staccato
carrying on for a bit longer
before the orchestra erupts again,
playing a few more notes than before,
the oboes constantly playing.
Drumsticks beat down steadily
on a cymbal held in a gloved hand,
rising up in crescendo and accelerando,
harder and faster they fall,
harder and faster they strike,
the orchestra blares again
as we in the wings start to get unnerved
but the storm has used all its power,
the players are tired tonight
and all that is left
is the tambourine man
shaking his hand as he walks off stage.