Please create a synopsis of the following text with insights on the themes and morals contained. The Text: L is for limits I'm still searching for mine there might still be a white knight somewhere deep in my mind this one is a classic a fairy tale with a twist some misaligned motives and an end that just fits not Cinderella, Rapunzel or Little Red riding hood there's no 3 little pigs in a house made of wood Just a musical man in a foreign land who when he needs money offers a hand vanquishing the vermin and getting rid of rats and with them the chance of a black plague attack The town was infested, a scene in the streets black mats of foul fur churned greasy in heaps dark eyes on the rooftops, whiskers under doors transgressed between holes as they scurried across floors From outside the gate and over the hill came the clicks of expensive leather boots a whistle on the wind, lonely and slow, the subtle swishing of a crushed velvet suit he had a wide brimmed hat, a guitar on his back and a leather strap matching his kicks "I know who ye are" as he steps toward the bar, "and You clearly have a problem that I can fix" He motioned to the whistle hung by chain on his chest, a shiny silver symbol that tended to impress who hadn't heard the rumors about the rat mans skill, a solitary mercenary using tunes to kill just then a fat rat ran across his right boot, His left pinned the tail and he gave a short toot as the silver pipe barked the rodent collapsed, his eyes glazed over and he rolled on his back That's my stock in trade - I deal with mice, or rats and possums, roaming rodents and the like if you want your town back I'll need a shovel and a check payable on completion and some professional respect The document was drafted and the details defined, he left for the outskirts once the contract was signed near the steep cliff overlooking the fjord, he dug a deep pit that he covered with a board He he wiped sweat from his brow and trudged toward town he was happy for work but didn't like getting screwed around some towns were notorious for dishonored deals this was not his first concert but things still might get real He cracked his knuckles and whet his lips his whistle at the ready, he inhaled and let rip a long string of notes in slow steady waves a call to the rodents entrancing the slaves In the streets rank and file from the smallest of mice to the fat cat sized rats that make women run for their lives he beat a steady drum with the heals of his boots walking toward the cliff and the pit he'd dug to use When he reached the excavation and he pulled aside the board at the steep sided pit in the field by the fjord he circled round and played the few last bars of siren song wave after wave fell into the cave as more marched helplessly along A half hour later he was standing at the bank his check in hand as planned, but no surprise, no thanks the teller acted agitated and said to sit and wait there had been some dispute o'er the signature and date This will take seven or eight days to clear the mayor's gone on business you're gonna have to hang round here until he gets back and endorses your pay you can rent a room at the saloon down-the-street and cross-the-way He shook his head and set his jaw as he walked toward the door the smirking sheriff snorted, his town had chosen war as the townsfolk cleaned off rat piss and scrubbed the baseboards down they were clearly complicit in the actions of the town They laughed and leered while others jeered but not one single soul offered thanks to them just a game, not an ounce of shame for his treatment by the cashier at the bank He flashed back to his teacher at the music academy lecturing on theory and getting things right his mind was decided this hamlet needed tragedy his finger traced the latches there'd be recompense tonight As midnight approached he walked to the well and tuned the strings slowly as he sat upon the sill for bigger game a bigger weapon as he strapped the six-string on, warming up and stretching well before unleashing sirens song With the cascade of notes came a shuffle of soft steps treading slowly entranced while the men in town slept none of the women could resist the tunes allure and the musicians intent to be done once and for sure A choir in their bed cloths in the moonlight in the square then marched toward the cliffs and the hell that waited there at first he had the thought of escorting to the pit the wife of the mayor and her two bratty kids A sadistically simplistic way to render them as meat the starving rats in the fresh dug pit could enjoy a midnight treat At the very last minute just before they fell in he altered the melody and they started to spin As they rotated they disrobed dropping linens in a heap waltzing naked in the wind while twirling in their sleep the granny's less their panties and the aunts sans pants joined uncovered mothers, dozing daughters in the rat mans dance This very famous waterfall they call the ladies leap once had another name before the events of which I speak they spun into the current tragic magic in their slumber awakened by the water just before it took them under With half of the populace washed clean of their sins he turned back toward town and considered the men it came all at once in it's poetic conclusion a final solution of artistic retribution Uncovering the pit, he dropped in the board and up came an army in a starving rat horde A flurry of notes and the rats stood transfixed melodically commanded they swayed while whiskers twitched At some deep level they understood he intended mocking so rat infested bedclothes climbed above the rat filled stockings the slippers writhed with mice and squeaked as rodent legs touched down compelled by the musician as they could not resist the sound While you wear this whistle they will obey your command he remembered witching words from the far and foreign lands but this was too much, he broke concentration and choked on his spit as he laughed in frustration As the feminine shapes fell in heaps at his feet he thought of the men in the village fast asleep a night eating and drinking free of the rats boasts from the sheriff that there won't be a tax Tomorrow the ratter will be escorted from town told to be gone, he's not needed around surely black magic and you best not return the church will be informed, circle back and you'll burn He would make them an example to always pay the bill you don't leave an enemy an axe to grind or time to kill snot nosed kids abruptly awoken cold and crying for their mama's didn't have time to dwell on their dads, once confronted with rat filled pajamas The alleys eerie and silent when the whistling finally stopped just the distant click on cobbles and a swishing low and soft windows stayed shuttered seven nights and seven days no smoke from the chimneys, the mayor returns from time away A week of fine feasting had made the rats round and the extra excreta increased by the pound the men reduced to meaty meals but where were the ladies? their clothing located with the remains of their babies He found his door ajar ,as were all the doors he passed as if they'd been propped open, an invitation to the rats he slipped in the filth and tripped cross the threshold sprawling to the floor in his private sanctum,now his dank destroyed den, he then found something more The mortified mayor regarded the carnage He knew his mind was slipping but had kept it to himself the crumbling facade had clearly come to focus when he forgot to sign the check and had instead enjoyed his wealth Above the cold hearth tacked to the mantle a hand written invoice, diagonally canceled Services rendered. Unable to pay. Thanks for your business. Have a nice day.