I sit hearing all the flowers cry
watching the summer end
the sun a gold coin on a string
that i can cover with my thumb
the sky is holding more these days
of the dry dust
it blooms in the evenings darker each day
in the distant wind laughter whispers
the scuffling of movement
that's when it said it
and I knew that to save myself
I must leave and soon
Don't be a mouse, be a lion
