At 56-7-8-9...It doesn't matternOf a well-known secret street, if you knock on the doornFirst once then three more knocks, you're let insidenAlone and sometimes even not alonennA maid, without saying a word, walk in front of younWith stairs, endless hallways, come one after anothernDecorated with baroque bronzes, golden angelsnAphrodites and SalomésnnIf it's not already occupied, say that you want the 44nIt's the room that here they call Cleopatra'snOn the columns of its bed, standing watch, rococo-stylenStatues holding torches gaze belownnAnd between these slaves, naked, carved with ebonynWho will be the silent witness of the scenenWhile above a mirror reflects usnSlowly I embrace MelodynnMelodynMelody