It begins with curiosity, but that suddenly ends, a strong fear in its place. If the youth is to overcome that, he's a man. Then, he's no longer playing with fire, he is fire.
Our leading man knows this, but he cannot find what's necessary inside him.
"Must something come to me, an enlightenment of some sort?" he wonders. But our leading man just wonders, when he should be trying instead. He falls in the comfortable trap, falling due to his own weight.
Jingles say it's Christmas, but who cares at all?
Days seem old when you can't recognize yourself.
He makes a call, putting an end to his lifetime crossroad; one of three sides of the coin:
STOP talking.
Jingles? That rings a bell.
I must hide in my own soul. Like a turtle, manic turtle.
