He thought his life was too slow,
and so he believed smack was the answer. His friends would set him up for awhile, and he would return the favor, keeping each other suspended along the edge of precipice. "You need to get high like me" he said, but I told him when he is old, life will look different from the ground.
Just before he leaped, he promised to wave good-bye when he passed my window.
And now I stand above his grave, scraping away the snow and leaves, covering up a name only I remember.
Life will look different from the ground my friend, when you are old
