Dearest mother,
I have a complaint,
You've ruined me forever,
With your decadent trends.

While I was a child,
I wanted what others got,
A cacophony of words,
In the form of popular songs.

Instead I got tunes,
Which I hated quite a bit,
Like some guy named Cohen,
Singing about a coat.

You gave me the Beatles,
And the moody blues,
When all I wanted then,
Were Vengaboy's tunes.

I suffered through a myriad,
Of nonsensical words,
Sung by some fellow,
Who called himself Scatman John.

It was truly awful mother,
Having to hear,
Some old country blues,
Through the mouth of Kenny Rogers.

You gave me a group of guys,
Who called themselves Queen,
What a weird thing to do,
When all I wanted was Emenem.

I heard of starry nights,
In the tune of Don McLean,
You even gave odd sounds,
Through some group call Floyd.

Now look what you've done,
Through this selfish act,
You made me fall in love with words,
And inspired me to write.

Dearest mother,
I have a complaint,
You've ruined me forever,
With your elegant trends.