Music brightens the moon and the dim lights are melted,
Fled to the city of heaven, where the soul is accepted.
The goblet, the violin, and the flappers upstairs,
Whispers to the city: COME out to this night of no tears.
Ears were throbbing with soundless ardor,
Deaf to faces behind the mask of flatter.
Lady yawns and the stroke of twelve,
Yet the perfume is still playing its role harder.
Hoary streets with wine-stained coats,
Miry corners are illuminated by evil notes.
New stairs sand-white still shined under lamplight,
The pageantry is a salvation for the sad plight.
The city shall know them by their eager feet,
With the brushing of skirts, softness in eyes, a haunting breeze.
Drinker shall sink into the ground, the stroke of two,
Drifting like a cloud, in the summer mood.
Dawn burns the street, the heaven falls,
The lack of firewood, evil is tearless and all.
The book of life is closed, roses wilting, city breathes.
The gold age hides and the last soul sleeps.
