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Malate

It is a place of steaming culture
Diff’rent treasures; exotic pleasures
It dances with the wind of the bay
Flutters, echoes in rustic tunes

The young daughter of old Manila
Born and raised by the “Kastila”
Enormously transformed from urban
By its great mentors, the Columban

It cradled the sun during the day
Its moon would lead you to experience
All your wild dreams and concupiscence 
Be ready for it eats and lures

Colors abound in this untamed place
As devotees flock to meet their grace
In the black stones that cover it much
To God they plead with their father church

Behind her curtains there grows a tree
From which I picked up the fruits I see
That tree will stand for as long as I live
In this cruel life that seldom give

And see that tree in foliage so rich?
Where I used to wait for her bells to ring
And hear that tune that it used to have
Now in extant it chant with the dove

O, ring the troublesome bells to see,
Her sweet children as they come with glee
Bless each and every one of them
She knows they’ll come back and kiss her then