Hark! from the pit a fearsome sound

Hark! from the pit a fearsome sound

That makes the blood run cold;

Symphonic cyclones rush around --

And the worst is yet untold.

No -- they unchain those dogs of war,

The wild sarrusophones,

A double-bass E-flat to roar

Whilst crunching dead men's bones.

The muted tuba's dismal groan

Uprising from the gloom,

And answered by the heckelphone,

Suggest the crack of doom.

Oh mama! Is this the earthquake zone?

What ho, there, stand from under!

Or is it the tonitruone

Just imitating thunder?

Nay, fear not, little one, because

Of this sublime rough-house;

'Tis modern opera by the laws

Of Master Richard Strauss.

Singers? They're scarcely heard nor seen --

In yon back seat they sit;

The day of Song is past, I ween:

The orchestra is "it."