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