Boston, first evening

The skyline is fading
Planets rearranging
For one man collecting his distance
His lungs are a bellow
Such a mechanical fellow
He's breathing in circles
(All signs of life)

On the rolling hills
Like the curve of a hip dipping
Oh, he can see her face
So he picks up his pace
Don't hurry here - A. Moyet, All Sings of life