Also, the title singer was kindly accorded me
even though I could barely carry a tune.
For many years, I was known as a monk.
I shaved my head and wore robes and got up very early.
I hated everyone. But I acted generously. And no one found me out.
My reputation as a ladies' man was a joke.
It caused me to laugh bitterly through the 10,000 nights I spent alone.
From a third-story window above the Parc du Portugal,
I've watched the snow come down all day.
As usual, there's no one here. There never is.
Mercifully, the inner conversation is canceled by the white noise of winter.
I am neither the mind, the intellect nor the silent voice within.
That's also canceled.
And now, gentle reader, in what name - in whose name -
do you come to idle with me
in this luxurious and dwindling realms of aimless privacy?