The man with the hand that is uncomfortable to hold
It is rough and sharp with no feeling really at all
Except for that spot where he trimmed at the nail
Not again he says, no no, not my nail

The clippers he used that went too deep
He only intended to keep appearances neat
To be seen like the man with the hand of a soldier
Broken and beaten, but with a veil placed over

So no one will know that he still feels pain
He grabs course rock and weilds hot flame
Forging the hand that belongs to a man
To be hard and tough this is his plan

But in that spot where he trimmed at the nail
The fire is too hot and the rocks painful
They scratch and burn at his sensitive skin
He stares at the spot where is nail should've been

Its the first true pain since he scared his skin
Remembering the hand that belonged to a boy
Comfortable to hold, gentle to touch
Able to feel every tickel and rush

His hand is too rough to touch the skin
The skin of a boy that once had been
Afraid of the pain before he hardened
He stares at the boy he cannot uncover

Unable to sooth
Unable to love
This hand is uncomfortable
Too hard and too rough

The hand of man that can't feel enough