your finger tips, they speak of days, they speak of places far away,
of lakes and lochs and fjords and bays, they speak what you're afraid to say.
they tell me much of what you fear, your need to be held close and near,
they tell me who you are my dear, they scream and yell and dance and cheer,
your finger tips they call to me, they drag me far far out to sea,
they show me who you want to be, and they do this all so silently.
this is why i miss your touch, it seems so simple but it's much,
much more than that, you are my crutch, that's why your hand i'll always clutch.