"Have you heard of the boy called Onan,
Spilling his seed and a knowin',
That he really ought not
And since he's been caught
The Beating commences upon him.
Onan was chided by God for spilling his seed on the
ground. Thereafter, left with nothing but shame and
pangs of nostalgia for the age when his pernicious
activities remained undiscovered, Onan placated his
formerly satiated urges with the cold brass of a
saxophone, the cool ebony and ivory of a piano, and
the sweltering wood of a hollow body guitar. And
behold, a new man was born, albeit still saddled by
those same propensities that rent him asunder."
Onan can be touched at Onan@TheBeating.com.