At 12 Midnight
The pale autumn night spoke
Oblivious to the city buzz
The greasiness from the prata
With the sweet lingering taste of Hoegaarden
As though in a world of our own
No glass slipper, no pumpkin carriage
Time came to a standstill
Undisturbed by the unfolding changes
I miss Saigon Vodka
And the bitter aroma of the Saigon beer
Bring me back to the city
Into the arms of freedom
Till then.
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