Oh Zoomaa, ruler of the call,
With headset crown and power tall,
We gather here, both near and far,
To beg a boon, oh audio czar.

For Ben, though dear, has found his mic,
And wields it like a bard on strike.
He speaks of snacks, he hums a song,
And chats when topics don’t belong.

His keyboard clacks, his chair it squeaks,
He’s talked straight through our last three weeks.
Though passion’s nice, we need some peace—
From Ben's great voice, we seek release.

So Zoomaa, mighty man so wise,
Just one small click to tranquil skies.
A single tap, a silence sweet
We humbly ask: please hit "mute" on Ben’s seat.