Lyrics
Melancholia picks the marsh's glistening tuv* cotton. On melancholia's plantation, a dreamy slave hums a spiritual. You ask with a suspicious glance what is growing out there, the answer you will get is the one you never want to have: wistfulness and melancholia don't wear out from happiness nor do they make sorrow any coarser than it already is. Melancholia and wistfulness are valuable senses.
*A kind of plant that grows on the west coast of Sweden’s archipelago