She loved the fog, and I loved her

Born on Thistle Street in the Gorbals of Glasgow

Footsteps from the river Clyde

She took no shelter from the storms, 

The booms of thunder gave her comfort. 

She'd toss open windows to hear them clearly

Lightning lit her beauty against the shadows of the night. 

In the fog of early morning, she gazed into the dimness 

I peer into the mists this morning

And hope to catch a glimpse of her as she slips away.