We hath to things
Things more of the distracting sort

Walking along the beach, a shadowed man stares, while the dark music played viciously
Likely to see vacant smiles

Heard the rush start up the knife

Greedy fingers cupping the leather case holding his curse
That glisten in the soft moonlight

His thoughts say "the only way out is to fly" as he drives himself to
the edge

And yet, it was this thing that made him a man