Intro - 25s] (Atmospheric sound: The three-tone chime of a Montreal Metro door closing. A Rhodes electric piano enters with smooth 7th chords and a soft tenor sax). [Verse 1 - Rap] (Laid-back flow, slightly dragging the words) Walking down Saint-Laurent, the wind cuts like a blade, Twenty below zero, watching the ghosts my breath has made. Montreal wears white, a canvas of concrete and frost, Orange cones sleeping under a gray sky, feeling lost. I seek refuge in a Plateau café, ducking from the glass, Where the smell of roasted beans is a soul-warming pass. I pull off my scarf, the steam blurring my sight, And there you are, sitting alone, bathed in the soft light. [Chorus - Jazz] (Smooth, melodic female or male vocals) Montreal is frozen, but your laugh feels like home, A second’s encounter, a story left on its own. Pathways crossing under the dim streetlights' glow, A love born in shadows, with nowhere left to go. Just two strangers dancing through the winter gale, A "maybe" that's lost in the city’s quiet trail. [Verse 2 - Rap] (Drum beat becomes more present, classic boom-bap style) Our eyes collide like ice chunks on the St. Lawrence river, A spark that doesn’t burn, but sends a different kind of shiver. You smile over your book, I nod with a shy grace, Time stands still, forgetting the cold outside this space. We talk about winters, about dreams and distant shores, But we both know our maps don't lead to the same doors. You’re heading West, I’m staying in the East, A winter romance that’s a ghost at the very least. The city warms us with its noise and its crowd, But the "us" is a bridge that isn’t allowed. [Bridge - Instrumental] (A soulful, heartbreaking saxophone solo over the distant sound of traffic and footsteps crunching on snow). [Verse 3 - Rap Final] (Lower voice, almost a whisper) You stand up, adjust your coat, pull your gloves on tight, Two ships steering clear after sharing the night. You step out to the street, the cold hits with a bite, Just another silhouette fading out of my sight. Montreal stays alive, warm inside, frozen out, I’m left with your echo and a heart full of doubt. A love that will never be, a poem never read, In the city of saints, where the winter is what we fed. [Outro - 30s] (The piano fades slowly. Sound of tires on wet asphalt and the sax plays a final, long, lonely note). Never to be... Just a coffee in the Plateau... Au revoir, my icy love...