i watch the rivers in st mark's place
and how they wash away the dust
and how the incense from st mark's church
colours in the air like rust
and we sit
like old men on benches in the rain
i watch an ocean in the subway
carry leaves across the tiles
an iridescent thing that floats
the memory of a four-year smile
and we sit
like old men on benches in the rain
on some wet, enchanted evening
beneath the candy-coloured light
i will softly sit beside you
and we will listen to the night
and we'll sit
like old men on benches in the rain
to listen to the bells
chime out again

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