My melancholy is a country
With endless geography
Wide plains bathed in ears,
Large with a quiet wave.
The calm of this silent country
It is discreetly traversed by shadows,
What are my guards at the border?
Away, unknown.
One season, steady,
The same monotonous night
And a time that flows metaphorically
Between one death and another.
My melancholy is a country,
Where I serve and am served,
Only I am the mistress and the vassal
And I also rebelled.
Product compliance information