Stepping out into the setting sun,
dancing leaves are falling,
to a jazz tune on the radio.
Swift strides,
short and smooth,
down the sidewalk
I walk past the cigarette butts.

On the crowded street corners,
waiting for the light
to change from the harsh red hand
to the walking green man.

The autumn wind is drifting,
and a harvest moon is rising.
Strolling through the night,
for a fate that is waiting,
in the October night.