The Hands

When I’m lost . . . I find a way. I hear voices. I feel them surround me, pull me from the edge. I close my eyes and . . . . my luck keeps holding strong, even when the boot comes down. Waiting for the revolution but there’s no one around except the . . . hands out of nowhere, saving me again. There’s always something there watching out for me, if I’m suffocating, it gives me air. Finally now I remember, but where I’m going now, I’m not sure. Only one thing matters much to me anymore. I’m looking for you. Can you imagine? You can’t think. You won’t find a way this time to frighten me. You’re running scared, now, always looking over your shoulder for a place where you don’t see my face. But my luck keeps holding so strong, even with the state I’m in. I’m like a revolution of one, even when I stumble I win. Because there’s hands out of nowhere, saving me again. There’s always something there, watching out for me. When I’m suffocating, it gives me air. I’m like a cat with only a few lives left and I’m crawling through the shadows. Watching my back waiting for the attack that I know is coming . . . I feel it’s near.