Silent night, traffic lights.
All is calm in the rain.
The Cape wind glides over black river roads.
The watered trees whisper under clouds that bellow.
While it sleeps in heavenly pieces,
while it sleeps in heavenly peace.

This withered night,
the warmth takes flight.
The chill creeps into the sleeping thing.
Glazed eyes fading while lonely lights grow,
the roar of the engine on the tarmac below,
while it sleeps in heavenly pieces,
while it sleeps in heavenly peace.