I stroll gently, listening to the song of the wind. Why are the roses so pale? Why are the blue violets on the green lawn speechless and silent? Why does the skylark sing so sadly in the sky? Why is there the rotting stench of dead bodies wafting in the thyme? Why does the sun shine on the pastures by the river with a cold and weary look? Why is the earth dark, dark, desolate and desolate like a tomb? Why am I haggard and depressed? It's him...