Busted

Last night I grabbed my guitar,
I'm afraid I'd had a few,
And decided to play something different,
Something excitingly new.
So, with muscles coiled and bunched,
I hammered out the chords,
I ran up and down the frets,
Dancing across the fret boards.
I played fast and with energy,
The sound was really smokin',
When everything abruptly ceased,
With three strings bent and broken.
The moral of the story's simple,
And take it to the letter,
Fast and hard can have it's place,
But cool and gentle's better.

True – my poor guitar. Still, I now have zippy new strings and the sound is so much brighter. It’s an ill wind …