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