What are fingers, anyway?
What gentle touch is missed?
On whatever given anguished day
When fingers form a fist

What are hands for, anyway?
If not for us to lend?
Can I make you do just as I pray?
Is your will my hand's to bend?

What's a conscience, anyway?
If not a simple guide?
How does one have final say
With indifference, what has died?

What's a dream for, anyway?
What nightmares must we reap?
Till comes the morning of the day
We rise from peaceful sleep