November Is The Coldest Month
written by: Jak Locke
written by: Jak Locke
from Other Streets (December 30th 2001) (2:58)
On a cold and damp November night
I tread old dirt roads to that pale moonlight
I saw a shadow in the glare of a sign
From the dusted pathways in back of my mind
From the cracked stone stairs to the light in her room
I followed my eyes by the halo of the moon
And through the blinds, though drawn as they were
Of her window I could barely catch a glimpse of her
An engine cut off and a door did slam
In the distance I caught vision of a young man
I sat by the base of an old weathered tree
Away from her window where the shadows covered me
For near an hour with my ears open wide
Listening to the laughter coming from inside
Echoing long and for many a day
I stood up afterward and I went on my way
I walk alone by the river late at night
Whistling false happiness and trying to feel all right
Pretending that nothing sits inside my mind
Pretending that there's no more peace that I should find
My thoughts and dreams still drift to that room
How it looks now, I can only assume
And how soft the bed that sits within
Yes, I dream it and I think it, but I’ll never know again
I tread old dirt roads to that pale moonlight
I saw a shadow in the glare of a sign
From the dusted pathways in back of my mind
From the cracked stone stairs to the light in her room
I followed my eyes by the halo of the moon
And through the blinds, though drawn as they were
Of her window I could barely catch a glimpse of her
An engine cut off and a door did slam
In the distance I caught vision of a young man
I sat by the base of an old weathered tree
Away from her window where the shadows covered me
For near an hour with my ears open wide
Listening to the laughter coming from inside
Echoing long and for many a day
I stood up afterward and I went on my way
I walk alone by the river late at night
Whistling false happiness and trying to feel all right
Pretending that nothing sits inside my mind
Pretending that there's no more peace that I should find
My thoughts and dreams still drift to that room
How it looks now, I can only assume
And how soft the bed that sits within
Yes, I dream it and I think it, but I’ll never know again