Summercide - Comadre

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