Overstimulation

So many songs sung in so many keys;
My dizzy ear cannot make sense of them.
They rush on me; I cry no more of these,
Yet cannot truly say its a problem.
I like the music, though my mind is dulled
By such insistent sonic sense;
I might perhaps desire they were culled
And neated into sets of pertinence,
But as they are, I cannot quite reject
The endless symphony simply because
My ear becomes to weary to detect
Which tune, or which composer, that air was.
I hear the music, and it thrills through me
No matter what the song, or in what key.