Sitting high upon the mountain, tossing his crown into the dirt, he cried, "Who's going to love Me? Where is she? Why doesn't anyone care?," and another thousand questions only pertaining to himself. While crying to the stars, of the "who, what, when, where and whys," he couldn't see her beyond his heavy self-burdened valley of tears. But she yelled, "But I love you. I'm here! I've always been here!" She was drowned in his sorrows. Sitting in ponderance, atop his mountain, his sorrow pours like buckets upon the wanderers below.