Midnight ballad 

By Ken Fan 

Midnight, 

as ever, 

Belongs to lovers.

Remember that old movie,

A charming man whispered to his lady:

-- Ah, It's midnight!

You know, 

At this moment, 

Half of the city are making love 

to the other half...

Charmed, 

they lay down 

And vanished from the screen... 

-- How pretentious!

-- What nonsense!

Someone feels upset and contemptuous. 

-- Don't you know?

It's not old Paris,

It's not a flimsy movie,

This city has been under a damn curfew!

Only the phantoms can wander at midnight,

And dance wickedly on those dark cobblestones...

Alas, midnight now belongs to the Death... 

Loud and eerie are those chants, 

Because the people are silenced. 

Once upon a time, 

Just maybe

The phantoms might still have tender hearts, 

And would play sweet serenades of their own making. 

But now, 

They turn into walking dead with forgotten souls. 

Their songs are instead desperate shrieks

Of lisentiousness and abandonment...

Sometimes, 

They would lift their heads, 

And beg for mercy and forgiveness...

But who would be there to listen?

Even God needs to sleep at midnight, 

So He could go to morning services with gentle good folks...