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Nick Cave, the dark poet of rock, retreats to his private sanctum, a space as intense and brooding as his music. Here, away from prying eyes, he indulges in his most private ritual. The room is filled with the scent of aged leather and the faint echo of his growling voice. His hand moves with practiced ease, his body arching as he chases the high only he can find. The room is silent but for his ragged breathing, and the soft, rhythmic sound of his pleasure.