I stare to my hands that do my ***** work
They type out the words from my mind where they lurk
They write my ****** homework that I’m forced to do
So much that I’ll never be able to see any one of you.

Them hands that write out my thoughts or wishes
And clutch a fork or knife as I eat years of dishes
And they’ll maybe be the same that come with me to my dreams
Of being a free rock star where reality hangs at the seams

Oh, but even as these letters form
I sit here quietly in my cozy blue dorm
That I knew all my life and that I’ll inevitably depart
While I clutch a cold hand to a still beating heart

I hope to use my hands for good
And someday for love if I ever could
So let my hands reach out to your own
And finally they won’t have to stay all alone.