Twenty-First. Night. Monday. Silhouette Of The Capitol In Darkness. Some Good-For-Nothing -- Who Knows Why-- Made Up The Tale That Love Exists On Earth. People Believe It, Maybe From Laziness Or Boredom, And Live Accordingly: They Wait Eagerly For Meetings, Fear Parting, And When They Sing, They Sing About Love. But The Secret Reveals Itself To Some, And On Them Silence Settles Down... I Found This Out By Accident And Now It Seems I'm Sick All The Time.