What does the devil want with idle hands?
What makes them
The devil's playthings?
Like tinker toys
For a madman?
Such a strange phrase, really...
What could the devil want of my hands?
Boney, square things that they are
These blocks of bones and nerves I use to type and write
These hand who refuse to learn to fiddle or pick
Who cannot catch nor throw
Who, at every turn, bumble into doorways and people alike
Who cramp, because writing was learned improperly
What use, really, are human hands who listen as well
As Lucifer
The ex-angel
Ex-blessed
The lover of music and delights
When they cannot produce either?
When nothing can be done with them
Why bother?
Why even attempt to control useless things?
It seems silly.
But that's just me.