The Ladies of Valparaiso

On the coast of a country that's quite far away,
Sits a city where jewels line the streets,
She's a crescent moon waxing that curls 'round a bay,
With an inky tide staining her feet,

With care they are balanced upon her hills steep,
Victorian houses like teacups,
Under colorful dresses, Spanish secrets they keep,
From their windows often fall teardrops,

Still lovely old women who wait patiently,
The Pacific has weathered their faces,
Not knowing their loves have been long lost at sea,
They sweetly remain in their places.