These hands they hurt,
from picking up the shame.
They hurt from digging deep,
and holding so much pain.
They ache from lifting obstacles,
and every bump they feel.
Hands like arthritis,
this pain will seldom heal.
They often feel asperity,
when attentive they can hear.
Hands of sensitivity,
struggle, hope and fear.
Hands that only bleed,
when cut by human kind.
Throbbing through it's history,
words you'll never find.
These hands are quite disable,
but capable to write.
They can only feel change,
but never see the light.
These hands have held the weight,
of a heart yet so cold.
They only feel the beat,
but the rymthm stays untold.
They feel alot of pressure,
and touch alot of rain.
Only these black hands,
can keep the fingers sane.