In the hush of midnight's shadowed tune, Chet's trumpet weeps beneath the moon. Notes like teardrops softly fall, Echoes of a melancholy call. In smoky rooms where shadows dance, Chet's horn weaves a forlorn romance. A solitary sigh, a lonesome cry, As melodies of heartache amplify. His trumpet whispers tales untold, Of love that's young, and love grown old. Through muted brass, a mournful plea, A requiem for lost ecstasy. A lonely street, a dim-lit bar, Chet's music drifts like a fading star. In every chord, a soul laid bare, A sonnet of sorrow suspended in air. Each breath he takes, a heavy sigh, A wistful echo, a muted goodbye. Through amber notes, the pain unfolds, A symphony of sorrows, stories untold. The night embraces the mournful sound, As Chet's trumpet weeps, unbound. A ballad etched in shadows deep, In the music of Chet, the sadness seeps.