So I remember when he used to call my name He used those letters that I wish I could forget It was never the tone of his voice Or the people in his pupil's, no, not his choice It was something proper, but whatever, he was dying It was the summer suicide The sun was sinking into our moonlight And even when the night was blind We felt a ghost waiting by our suicide The summer suicide Now it's December, never useful, so dead's my game
Now no one's cleaver, not like he was. I won't forget Now I hear about the moon and the mind Stealing hours, mornings, minutes, eating pride Now we're all proper, but whatever, I still cried It was the summer suicide The sun was sinking into our moonlight And even when the night was blind We felt a ghost waiting by our suicide The summer suicide