Eight hundred and six,
I'm badly missing you

The thought of it makes me sick –
Trying to find a way out of this labyrinth

a face straight out of a magazine –
Like a demon with an angelic smile.

Your personality is cryptic
waiting to be discovered

let me help you uncover –
biggest secrets you don't want to recover

sooner or later,
or maybe never

you might end up thinking about me too
at exactly eight hundred and six