In passing by the brook
Where I sometimes lean,
Someone glanced over my entire body,
folded like a sob
Black pupils so lax,
Roots the same as mine
My love, when you interlaced with me,
by chance the riddles,
My love, when you interlaced with me...
What pallor in that face,
Under the sheet of moonlight,
Just like he who placed at the sun
Had been anguishing
They gave me then for advice,
Throwing away from me my meaning.
But after seeing myself in the mirror,
I made sure that I had died.