Through the concrete spires and cold dark roads,

The fog clung to every wall,

Over stone it slid and brushed as though it were breathing,

Behind the glass of fifteen floors,

From the warmth of our temporary sanctuary,

You bathed as I watched the glimmer of lights being suffocated by the fog,

The cathedrals orange fought to reach me,

And glowed tenaciously, accompanied by a stained glass green,

And streetcar noise so far below rose, ringing as it passed,

This city laid out in crowded confusion,

Cluttered wall to wall,

On Foundations made of gold,

Stone and brick .