Of course, I know what it means to cry. I've seen this many times before; I've felt this many times before. This world, so bleak and devoid of freedom and happiness, has nothing but fear and depression to escort the people through life. I try to be the hero; I try to save the day. But I can't. Every time I try, the only reward I am left with is the helplessness reflected in their sad eyes. My efforts are worthless. The young ones still have hope, but the older folk see the truth, the ugliness refusing to relent. I see it too. I want to be able to forget about it, forget about everything evil. I just want to live in a world where the children can grow up without fear for the future! I want to be able to see them, years from now, happy and without the haunted glossy look that has taken control of the adult's vision. But it seems as if no such feeling will ever exist. We will always live in doubt, hiding in corners and shivering in our sleep. Even in our dreams, we continue to see torture and abandonment. We are alone, always alone. Not even our brothers can save us now. This is what it means to cry. We are alone; we have nothing. I feel the tears now, starting in a slow trickle, quickening as each minute passes. I am their only hope, I'm told. But even Angels feel despair... every now and then.