So upon this night, the darkness humbled
Candles sputtered, spirits grumbled
Brooding in this bitter room
What Fate had woven on her loom
While shadows fed upon the gloom
But as these spirits talked and chattered
With all their thoughts quite widely scattered
On things that no one else thought mattered
Beethoven, who was as you know, quite deaf
Heard all their words with deep regret
And wished that he was deafer yet

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