Shrieks sound as pure and full of emotion as a violin.  And chokes are the drums. Whimpers pluck my ears like a piano.  I could soak up the sound for years. Sobs echo like trumpet. Like my very own parade. I am the conductor. I wave my arms, bellow: decrescendo! Then their bodies add panache  to the floor. I frown. This song is done. Final whispers  wander away without care.