"When we're apart, my darling,"

The drummer made his way to the front of the stage, throwing a drumstick into the crowd that surrounded the stage. His gaze fell onto the flood of people, too many thousands to count.

"There's sorrow in the wind,"

A cycle that had been repeated countless times. A song familiar to him in every way, playing in his ears each night at the end of each ritual.

He threw another drumstick.