Can I revise the page of November
When she left me behind that old hospital door?
We all have our stories, some are sad to remember
Some are maddening reminders of who we once were before
But tell me what you see
From high above the trees
The less that I want, the less to remind me
That everything wanted is just more to regret
Saint Augustine, will you lay your hands on me
And heal my head
Something unseen, something inside me
Twisted mad like a bull through my bones, seeing red
I walked all around, with a sword pointed toward me
Asking me if I choose to be alive or dead
But tell me what you see
From high above the trees
The less that I want, the less to remind me
That everything wanted is just more to regret
Saint Augustine, will you lay your hands on me
And heal my head
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