A child cries for his dying mother, a mother weeps for her dead son. Victory does not bring back the dead. The obituaries are just as many as they ever were.

Somewhere in the night a father comforts his widowed daughter. They were supposed to grow old together, but instead she will grow old alone. First the band plays Ode to Joy, and then they play the Funeral March.

Things will be better tomorrow when the sun comes up. The first sunrise after the war will be the most glorious one the world has ever seen. Their tears will fracture the light into rainbows.