He needed a means of coping
With the pain and suffering he had to endure
Being marred as he was by a soulless and heartless demon
So one afternoon, after watching a small parade
And for unknown reasons picking up the sounds
Created by the marching xylophone player
And then noticing the exuberant actions of said player
As he violently struck rubber-topped mallets
Upon the small, wooden bars
That created the wonderfully
Melodious interlocking tones
He found his salvation
And now he spends his days
Locked away in a small shed he built in the backyard
Practicing intricate rhythmic patterns
With energy and enthusiasm
Rigorously and vigorously
Achieving an emotional and mental satisfaction
Beyond anything he could ever imagine
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