i think it's high time,
that we go,
back to the place,
that only we know.

i think that sometimes,
you don't know,
just where to go-
or how to grow.

i think it's high time,
that i know,
just how you feel,
it never shows.

i think it's about time,
that it snows.
so we can waste our lives
in the frozen grove.

i'll think of more rhymes,
just to cope.
i hope i die.
i hope you don't.

it's almost nine,
it's getting cold.
i called your phone,
but you declined,

so much for the grove.
i hope it never snows.

i think it's high time,
that i die.
all alone
in mid july.