I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness.

Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.

I believed that the way passed through Man, and that it was from there that destiny had to emerge.

I got lost in the night, without the light of your eyelids, and when the night surrounded me I was born again: I was the owner of my own darkness.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark, vacillating, stretched out, shivering with sleep, downward, in the soaked guts of the earth, absorbing and thinking, eating each day.

Like them you are tall and taciturn, and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.

When I sleep every night, what am I called or not called? And when I wake, who am I if I was not I while I slept?