On Roppongi Hills I walk alone, Noreen.
It’s not the same as when you’re by my side.
Here’s so much commerce to be bought and seen,
But I walk all alone, a groom without a bride.
The neons of Tokyo wink like temptresses
That call to a man who walks with heavy tread.
But I’m too much acquainted with loneliness
To be prey to sirens, for them I have no dread.
I think of another city and a happier time:
We were in Manhattan’s flowered avenues.
Suddenly I know what makes a walk sublime,
What makes a treasure out of worn-out shoes.
And I’m dead sure I have no yen for Tokyo’s night life:
I long to be home in the arms of my wife.