a B-flat is reached at the height of a glissando, sustained, wavers, and finally drops, as though its singer had run out of breath.

the soft purr of a two-stroke one-cylinder fills the early morning silence. its symphony, seemingly incessant, whisks you away from a pleasant dream, or early morning coffee, screaming "AWAKEN, SUBURBANITES, AND SHOW THANKS--
FOR YOUR LEAVES HAVE BEEN BLOWN."