the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the
cities! whose soul is innocent and immortal it should never die cross
in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the ghostly clothes of jazz in
the goldhorn shadow of the subway window, jumped in the ghostly
clothes of jazz in the fog! Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch
whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch Moloch in whom I