The ticking of a clock.

From somewhere, a breath of wind comes, rustles papers on the table, papers covered with writing:

I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends I don't want to repeat I don't want to end I don't want to follow death and his friends...