A harbor town, just like this one, swept up in fog
the seagulls, ghosts emerging from the skies
the river glistens soft & wide,
the Cranes for now are sleeping giants
he kisses her, the anxious gun pressed tight
against his hand in his pocket
he is a dock worker
she is a seamstress
they're a black & white film
because technicolor here is impossible
he is you & she is me
we speak only in French
the kids on the block
will get you the next day.