The sun rises every morning
To the silent, serene valley of untainted beauty.
It sends rays over the sleeping lovers,
Their faces glowing from last night
Its warmth finds its way to the pained faces
of sufferers before the masks are made.
The lonely hearts hear the sun's song
As it sings to them alone, faintly and delicately.
The sun hears the silent pleas of the lost souls
And the beating hearts of the lovesick masses.
The sun sees it all as the city sleeps, exposed:
Before the people have a chance to hide.
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