When in deep despair, melancholy takes my hand br Carresses my cheek gently and for the life of me br The words don't come and I cannot speak br br The words like still pools reflect dark moonless nights br Emotions that have plundered and run away br To mountain hideouts br br Sensitivity and argument br Music and metronomy br Strings and wood br Voices and fingers br br Leave me thus shaken by their power br Of enchantment; all that I saw and read br Felt and dreamt here and there and everywhere br br When in deep despair I think of my mother's love br And my old father who always asks for me br In spite of my age; the trust and devotion br br I gave to some, often unreturned br But that doesn't matter. Cycles of life and love br Go away and come back again br br When in deep despair I wonder and reflect br Melancholy is a friend, not a fiend but for whom br There is none, noone to touch my hand today.