Albal

A lament about a lost, precious woman, sung in Egyptian and Maghrebi voices. He calls her the soul of his soul, dear to him, the one his heart belongs to. He is bewildered. He cannot see the day. Where can he find her, and where can he take her? Then comes a scene from memory. He asks if she remembers when she came to his door. Everything was wrong, and it showed in her eyes and in her manner, though she did not mean to say anything. A bitter generalisation follows, that no one in this world is any good, not even in romance, and that everything is mistaken. The title phrase, which means on my mind, is repeated until it becomes a drone.