Cold November Day

Lyrics

[Verse 1] That cold November day, he penned the perfect poem to change the very fabric of existing His pen bled beautiful bouquets of purpose blossoms Yet he knew he was still on a quest to find his own pasture Daily he would patiently wait for something to pacify his drive to feel alive But he knew there was something, beyond just being a pawn that barely survives that enticed him When he was sent away, there was a friend that would write him But when that stopped, he began to write himself His only friends were padded walls, a notepad and a pen No next of kin left in his world, all by his self There were many that tried to help But no words could erase what he was forced to face that cold November day His mother and father were orphans that found each other's love Had no one else but knew they had each other's love And when they had him, wanted him to have someone that loved him that he could touch, tangible, that loved him But one early Sunday in November, he lay between his parents, a pure soul He was barely four years old and it happened Two masked men grabbed him from the bed While a third woke his father up and stabbed him A fourth held his mother down while she yelled "stop" and did unspeakable things to her while this four year old watched Then they left him there, with his dead mother and father Somehow he was fully aware of what happened and never spoke again Deemed a danger to himself unless he's holding a pen His only high points was receiving letters from his imaginary friend It was a cold November day It was a cold November day [Verse 2] It was a cold November day He lay strapped to a bed And in his head is the only place he felt someone listened There were times when he'd wake to watch the sunrise And tried to find its beauty in the words that he had written his self The cards he was dealt, perfect recipe for crash-and-burn The lessons he had to learn guided his pen to the promised land A blend of modern man and prophecy was a helping hand in waking him from his slumber He'd often wonder, now twenty years later, if his life could reflect the life he pulled onto the paper It was his only escape from seeing his mother's face Taking a last breath, he wrote what little hope he had left His soul took control of the pain he had to say in order to break from his chains that cold November day Destined to make a change, no longer scared and ashamed Begin to feel the honor of having his father's name The words came easy like Sunday morning that Sunday morning And the irony of that was a poem within itself As his pen bled, he finally started to clear his head And knew he was the poem within itself so That cold November day, he penned the perfect poem to change his fabric of existing He picked the perfect blossoms planted by his parents While grazing the pasture of inheritance left for him Not waiting to pacify his drive to feel alive No longer waiting to fall off the cliff but ready to fly You could see it in his eyes, how he left the doubt with ease Just then he opened his mouth and spoke the words "I believe" It was a cold November day It was a cold November day It was a cold November day