THESE HANDS

+1985 Mark Cohen



The sky's clouding over, there's a breeze off the mountain

A chill in the air and the sound of the rain

It washes the trees and it fills the gray river

But it won't clean these hands and it can't heal the pain

I'm nobody special, I'm somebody's neighbor

Had a job in a store and I made decent pay

My wife and I lived in a two-room apartment

We'd a nine-month-old daughter and one on the way



It was Saturday night, I'd been working till seven

And then I'd gone out with the boys for a drink

Got home after nine, I was tired and hungry

And a little bit drunk, and in no mood to think

My wife was asleep and the baby was crying

Dirty dishes and diapers were piled around

She woke up and saw me, said, "Please feed the baby,

I'm tired and sick, and I need to lie down."



I guess it was building a long time inside me

It must have been smoldering over the years

The dishes, the crying, the tiny apartment

Something let go, and my eyes blurred with tears

It seemed like her crying would go on forever

Louder and louder it pounded my brain

My thoughts were a fog of frustration and anger

I had to do something to stop all the pain



They say they don't know if she'll ever be walking

They say that my wife and new baby are well

They tell me I'll be here a little while longer

But there's one thing that nobody ever can tell

What makes a man raise his hand to a baby?

How can he strike his own daughter or son?

I wake every day to a nightmare of sorrow

And I wish that these hands could undo what they've done



@abuse

filename[ THSHANDS

MC

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