Pain That Taught Me Patience

(Verse 1) Pain never arrives gently — it shows up like a storm and leaves you sorting through the wreckage alone, quiet, unprepared. But somewhere in the breaking, I learned something no calm day ever taught me: hurt slows you down until you finally learn to listen to the parts of yourself you kept outrunning. (Pre-Hook) Some lessons only come when life pushes harder than you can push back. (Hook) Pain that taught me patience — cold nights, long durations. I learned to breathe through every hit, through silence, through frustrations. It didn’t make me weaker — it reshaped my foundations. Pain that taught me patience — my quiet renovations. (Verse 2) There were days I wanted out, nights I wanted numb, moments where even breathing felt like a task I couldn’t overcome. But pain has a way of holding you still until you finally understand what needed to change, what needed to die, what needed to grow. (Pre-Hook) Patience isn’t calm — it’s surviving what tried to break you. (Hook) Pain that taught me patience — deep wounds, transformations. I didn’t ask for any of it, but it sharpened my foundations. Now I move with slower strength, with colder calibrations. Pain that taught me patience — shaped my expectations. (Bridge) The things that hurt me also built me. Not gently, not kindly — but honestly. (Final Hook) Pain that taught me patience — not fragile, but refined. Every hardship shaped my posture, every trial trained my mind. So I walk with quiet wisdom, every breath a forward sign: Pain that taught me patience — and now the timing is mine. (Fade: slow trembling blues guitar, distant crackle of cold air, long steady exhale)