When the moon is born in the east,
And the white rooftops drift asleep Under the heaped-up light,
People leave their shops and march forth in groups To meet the moon Carrying bread, and a radio, to the mountaintops,
And their narcot...
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Round about the city rests
The illuminated streets grow Quiet, and coaches rush along, adorned with torches
Men go home to rest, filled with the day's pleasures; Busy minds weigh up profit and loss contentedly At home
Waking up at dawn,
Hurry among work roads,
In head heavy burdens,
On back family problems,