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.