Monday, 25 June 2007

my hands

My hands are scrubbed and rinsed
I do that several times a day~

my heart's just not convinced
these things can all be washed away~

You know just where I'm at
but it's the same thing every time~

I'll knelt there on the mat
repeating every prayerful line~

but I've got something else to say
and then, you might not want to hear
well can you look at me today
with all my anger, doubt and fear~

We found the will to live
and use our hands to heal a few~

I've got more love to give
and wrote the ending over too~

this fence is electric wired
but I'm tryin' to get across to you~

I write until I'm tired
my hands are burned and bleeding blue~

and so I raise them up to You
God, inspite of all my pain~
asking you to get me through
and then you wash my hands again.

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