The crooners of old, they took pride in their song,
Expecting all hearers to follow along.
The era of rock? On the whole (what the heck)
We’d turn to the liners of albums to check
Occasional words which we couldn’t discern;
Yet lyrics weren’t something the singers would spurn.
But now when I listen to music produced,
A warbling trill is the fashion unloosed;
And half of the lyrics I get, but the rest
Are muddled at worst, or seem nonsense at best.
I’ll offer one thought how these lyrics are strung:
Perhaps not yet written, they’re nonetheless sung?
Don Munday, firstname.lastname@example.org