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It always somewhat bothers you that no one else seems to hear them. For you they resound like the most complex rich music, the tones simple, but overlapping in ways that intoxicate the think pan.
You'll deal though. When Mom called you you always came, her song echoing in your head in soft warning as her hunger grew. Sometimes you had almost wanted to wait longer, since the longer she was hungry the more complex the melody became, teasing at the edges of your think pan.
Unfortunately, when the world died, so did she, and her sprite song had none of the rippling, almost painfully beautiful edges of her original, none of the low bass of warning or the high treble of need, leaving almost a tinny whiny resonance behind, making you reluctant to listen to her.
But now you've found new singers for your brain, and the more of them that there is, the more your think pan rolls and twitches when you open yourself up to the onslaught of notes, a rumbling thorax-rattling boom, and cartilage nub cavity-pinching notes, so shrill you can barely feel them itch and shiver in the bones of your face.
You understand where Sollux is coming from in those moments. The voices that reign in your head are invited, however, and when you've got him curled against you with your thumbs against his cranial plates, you open your think pan and let a bit of the tuned cacophony pass through to him, feeling the vibrations pass from your phalanges to his head, and back again, causing both of you to sigh and lean against each other.
It's a symphony. And while the others may miss it, with whatever connection they're lacking, you embrace it, and let your own tones mix back, singing for a audience of monsters.