Hear the steps?
Past the curfew - two feet, counting stairs,
of a drunk man, who's stiffness is eerie.
It's the sound of me climbing up to my place
where there's no one to be doing the hearing.

Hear the jingle?
It's the finger in search of a key,
of a man who's had not enough spirit.
Would my loneliness also abandon me,
if I managed to fall in love with it?