These hands of mine looked different years ago,
When I was younger and the world was new.
I never really watched when time did flow,
And carried away all I thought was true.
These hands of mine worked hard and never tried
To serve an int’rest other than my own.
Ashamed, ashamed when I look back. The tide,
The ebb and flow, that made weary these bones.
They never wanted to put up a fight
And ball up into fists - these hands of mine.
Nor did they want to set the wrongs aright,
Nor did they want the wisdom earned in time.
And now that there is more to love than me,
These hands of mine have never been more free.
