Oh, a passing, skeptical kind of interest. I'm a hammer-and-nails kind of guy. - Nick Cave

Along crags and sunless cracks I go,
Up rib of rock, down spine of stone,
I dare not slumber where the right winds whistle,
Lest her creeping-soul clutch this heart of thistle.

I'd rather see what makes me different as something almost congenital. And I have these inklings that what you commit or endure in this world, relates to some kind of justice or balance. Maybe if you get a bad deal in this world, it is because of something you did, or were, in a previous life. Which is why I don't feel sorry for the poor.

The moon was turned toward me,
Like a platter made of gold,
My death, it almost bored me,
So often was it told.