From XIII

What will become of the songbird's ballad that hastens the rising sun?
What will become of the whispering wind that tells secrets to the trees?
What will become of the moon's soft glow that carries aloft the fireflies?

What will become of you and I?

How are we to cope when nothing lasts forever, when nothing is what it seems and hopelessness and desire fall down upon our shoulders like yokes on an ox? How are we to remain whole when all around us fall to pieces and from their ashes arise terrible creatures of malice and spite? Are we doomed to share the same fate?

How are we to remain human?

Is there despair in sunrise? Tell me there is and I will chase it away with my lips.
Is there hatred in the moon? If so, tell me and I will crush it in my hands.
Is there any life left in the grass?
Is there a God, somewhere, anywhere, lost in heaven? Please, tell me and I will find him—or her—it really doesn't matter...

All we need is hope