This summer was different
For there were no sunny days
Nor starry nights
Van Gogh would cough and be sick
Perhaps he would die
But Goya would've loved it
He would be thrilled and paint it all
A truthful sad painting
I was camping on my own
A bear bit my leg
And Bach was playing on my old radio
Every music is summer music
As long as you are happy
And I wasn't
So I could not feel it summery
I felt it cold and awful

And blood... so much blood