O Magnagora, of the gas-lit streets!
A dark and sooty place when seen by day,
But when night sets in and the sun retreats,
Its gas lamps flare to life and light the way.

Like magic, they all flicker on at once,
As though rekindled by a hidden hand--
A secret kept by Lain, whose vigilance
Maintains the gas lamps' lines below the land.

Beneath their light, viscanti nobles stroll,
The merchants bargain, and the cultists lurk,
And all enjoy their (un)lives to the full.
Our city never sleeps or ceases in its work

As long as the gas lamps still shed their light
We never waste an hour of day or night.