"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.