this illness, this brutal shadow on our romance
this timely, uninvited breath of reality
this thing that hints at deathly
robs you of what is rightfully yours
and threatens all our newborn fleeting fancy.

i will not let you keep this private
i will make you open your eyes and tell me
look into mine and be frighteningly honest with me.
please don't let this be the thing that shuts the door.
please don't let this be the end of what we've hoped for.

i can feel the ending now
the credits rolling on a b-grade film
please don't let this be the thing that shuts the door.
please don't let this be the end of what we've hoped for.

my hands are small
much smaller than i thought they were
but everything is relative to comparison
with yours.

my hands are warm
they have always been but
they are colder than yours, they are
colder and smaller.

my hands are rough
i've always thought of them with callouses
with a patchwork of scars, but they are softer
softer and colder and smaller than yours.

what can i do with these small hands?
i do not play so well as you can.
what can i do with these warm hands?
they cry out to be warm.
what can i do with these rough hands?
these scars, and this leather skin.
i can make something from nothing with you

everything is relative in comparison with yours.
i can be small, cold and soft, needing your
size, warmth and strength.
the illustration is.... i can be independant
i'm tough enough to be alone now
or i can admit
some weakness, say i need you.

my hands are strong
they are strongest than most
they can pull down, tear away and rebuild
they are strong enough

my hands are gentle
they soothe and ease away frowning
they can relax and revive muscles and strength
they are gentle enough

my hands are quick
they can move like lightening
making music and making words that say everything
they are quick enough to speak

my hands are instinct
they know how to touch other
hands, lips, shoulders, arms in a caress
they are instinctive with you

what can i do with these small hands?
i do not play so well as you can.
what can i do with these warm hands?
they cry out to be warm.
what can i do with these rough hands?
these scars, and this leather skin.
i can make something from nothing with you

the rain is falling down again today
we know it doesn't matter anyway
though it leaves us
with sad grimaces on our faces
and small blue clouds relecting
on our eyes

tomorrow i will wake
up at the same time
with much the same amount or lack
of romance about it
it may rain
it may pour down light from heaven
we know it doesn't matter anyway

on friday last i saw you
singing sad old songs
in the rain to a sad old man,
you made him smile
it rained for half the set and the
rest was bathed in sun
we know it doesn't matter anyway

simpleminded adolescence died
in my whispering fingers
and against best innocence
your eyes are fading hard
like water drops end