The crude sounds that you are inspired to create will never escape this room. I sealed the windows and doors shut before the concert. You will never meet the pretty girl down the hallway because she refuses to strain her neck so that she may hear the faint sound of something that may or may not be the radio.

When you pour your heart out, it splashes around on the floor and lingers and stinks. I'm walking carefully around it on my way out of this place. Others will slip as they run towards you smiling, and maybe a few will slide right into your arms.
What a mess.