You never know with hands like these,
what may be yelled or whispered.
I'm talking to you and you have no clue,
The filthy whore you aren't has me scared.
---
Childish swords pound on character cubes.
My palms never screamed such silly things before.
I'd take everything away because it wasn't good enough for you.
But what gift can a queen recieve from a whore.
On one knee I dream of that black and white picture.
A mirrored image of who I want to hold.
I barely even got my foot in the door.
I left for too long, now I'm cold.
I'll start a fire for you, your personal revolution.
What ever you want, What ever you need.
You'll not get a straight answer I promise you that.
At least you'll never know with hands like these.
Copyright 2004 Revolting Theatre
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