Poor kid, thinks Wyatt upon hearing the familiar but muted voice. He takes out his guitar (which he only ever plays for his own amusement) and his tablet. He takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table and places the tablet so he's in full view. He has a feeling Kobra Kid would want to watch someone else play an instrument, if only because music is in such high regard with both the killjoys.

He sets the feed to holo and starts playing with little explanation. He doesn't know all the words (from memory loss or failing to memorize it properly in the first place), but he can improvise, and hum what parts he just doesn't want to risk messing with.

"Some people born are ever so poor, oh! Why is it so,
Our fathers whom in the earth reside, perchance prefer it, oh

Our fathers whom in the earth reside, eyes closed and sleeping sweet,
Who cares but for a baby born poor, when one has lived life replete

Who cares but for how days go by, they wander where they will
Citizen, in but the blink of an eye, you'll be reduced to nil

By then, another life takes your place; you won't know a thing,
You won't know sun, earth or moon, where'er you're now resting

Who cares but for how nights fly by; I couldn't care less
Long as I'll stay right here, buried in my loved one's kiss

I am a man of ill repute, I ain't good for none
Behind that door, Death will abide - he'll grab me when he can

Some people born are ever so poor, until they no longer are
Devil, lying in wait every turn, laughs 'til he can't but cry..."