I spent my summer by the graveside,
Waiting for the resurrection of autumn
To bring my family home.
Laid flat in the dirt, with my toes
Dug 6 feet under the earth.
Reaching for that last remnant of shade,
Amongst the unforgiving grey;
Every day, I payed my blood fee
To the crowding mosquito mothers.
And every night I watched the stars,
and listened to all the grieving lovers.
And still I waited for the death of summer.
While all the spirits passed me by,
Whispering of their tears and woes,
Of how all living things lie.
But still, I could not go,
For summer had left me dry,
And told me to stay buried under.
Or else learn what it meant to die
Blooded and empty.
So I slept.
Dirt naps for the living;
I slept, and I dreamt.
While the skies opened and wept,
For they could forsee the end,
I dreamt of beginnings,
and of farewells to friends.
Because summer was ending,
And to gain, you have to give.
If heat's decay would only leave me,
I'd learn again to live.
Finally, the dirt beneath my spine
Grew cold and unyielding.
I pulled my legs from the grave,
And knew the dead had been eating.
But I stood in the cemetery,
And the chill cut to the bone.
I knew that at last I could go home.
But it would seem, though,
All the world had gone cold,
I couldn't recover
What had so long grown old.
So there I was left,
To return on my own,
And hope I hadn't left life
buried in summer's memoriam.