Kazoo Memo

Tired of all my singing, my throat began to cut itself, my lungs to drown themselves, my guitar-playing fingers to amputate themselves as though to completely outdo Jerry Garcia and his mere one truncated finger. But my feet stood pat, held my ground until I could re-digitize and get a grip on some form of music-maker again, even if only this kazoo that makes my voice burn through the melody like an angry rasp. If you are irritated by the sound, you have my permission to tune out. Perhaps your ears need rest. Be careful not to be deafened amid all this noise.