Dreams of my Favorited town ... When night falls over Lisbon then the whole of the Alfama become a ship without sails, or a house without windows, where people sit and grow cold.

And from some wretched garret
stolen from Alfama's misery,
locked inside four walls of water
- four stony walls of sobbing,
four walls of long disquiet -
at night a song will soar out
which lights up the whole city !
But Alfama, disenchanted,
still smells of melancholy.

It does not smell of fado
but of solitary people
sitting in a wounded silence
that tastes of bread and sadness.
Alfama does not smell of fado -
but it has no other song...