"So dry, so dry, are the lips of the world. The longing for a kiss overwhelms us, prompting us to seek lovers in green paper, or sparkling glass. But their kiss holds no charm. It only drains what little fluid remains on the trembling lips of our hearts." These are the songs of Night who had forgotten Dawn: No sun remembered, no day expected. An eternal, black darkness upon a being whose essence is light: forgotten by time; forwent by eternity. It was during such a night, that as I roamed unceasingly, a bright star appeared above the sky. I followed. It grew brighter, and brighter, revealing a secret my soul alone could remember. It's secret was beauty. At first in a bar of chocolate: a beautiful taste. Then in a sunset: a beautiful sight; next: a heavenly melody; a woman's touch; all reminding, arousing, my spirit's memory. Until all the veils were burnt away, and my long-forgotten eyes opened... And there She stood. She had a name, like any other, but it was spoken by a different tongue, in syllables with no sound. Of a beauty unexampled, yet she was not extraordinary: like the sun's light, yet seen in an atom. This is the mystery of the night's song: that day exists, though the sky be black; that faith is more real than a lover's touch. For all shall be rolled up, and put away at the Judgement Hour. Yet her name alone will remain, carried on my lips to the very Door of Eternity. When even the dust holds the Face of God, what else is left, but to admire?