The poet scowls, slings his guitar back into his hands. He starts strumming on it. Dimitri could swear he sees a sheen of gold reflecting off of its strings. A terrible familiarity resonates in that angry, powerful voice. "So they've tried to break your hearts / By takin' memories from their graves? / Go anywhere, it's all the same / The tricks the big men choose- / You see, the ones who deal the cards / They always get the ace of spades / There's few ways to win a game / and a million ways to lose... / Way down / way down / way down / way down / way, way, way, way down in the belly of the beast..."