Today, there is a storm in my head that is viscious and threatens to drown me.
Under a moonlit sky, a thousand thousand stinging insects swarm.
Locked inside Pandora's box, the weak cries of hope are fading.
And love is sleeping in the beds of death, refusing to check the time.

The change I had to cross the river Styx has been misplaced, nor could I drink the amnesic gold of the River Lethe.
In limbo, I must think of you obsessively.
Your divine beauty, your quicksilver song, the distance that remained between us.