In the earlier hours before the gates are open and lights are on
He stays back near the ocean, avoiding the sting of solid ground
But slowly he must creep forth, and envelop those beyond the bridges
Into the city before dawn, creeping down past Maiden Lane
Surrounding the chatty store owners of the Embarcadero
Confusing the seals, who look around for their mates through the haze
Then past the city, onto the mainland
Cargo loading dock crew members shout through his mist
And men on their way to work must push through his gloom
Can he make it over the Oakland Hills today?
But yes, he must push past Berkeley and climb the uneven mass
Traveling along the highway, he forces himself to settle dew upon cars
As young drivers struggle to make their way to school
But he must continue, on to Mount Diablo
And when he finally reaches the foothills
The fog knows he has done his job.