The Hand

Every time a guy writes a song he's a cowboy, a sailor Playing with the world in his palm like the first pioneer Every time he opens his mouth, it's a loud movie trailer Clipping every image and sound he thinks proves he was here A hand, a spike, a physical fight A flash of light, a curtain A toll, a tithe The passage of time A height, a dive, a burden A girl, a night, a typical type A siren in the water A scroll, a nod A message from God A Son, a Holy Father Every time a guy writes a song he's a sailor, a cowboy Holding out the world in his palm like he made it himself Every time I open my mouth I think, wow, what a loud noise Still on the soapbox, just hoping I seem underwhelmed The hand, the pen, the writing again The wind around the willow The felt, the ice The passage of time The melting down the window The now, the then, the thinking of when The bottle in the ocean The strike, the pause The message from God Forbid she shows emotion This isn't rage, it's worth a mention This is a fake internal tension Sometimes I spread out one opinion And stand on its back to gauge attention This isn't rage, it's too specific I like to hate symbolic limits This is no statement, I'm complicit This is a dream God put me in it A hand, a spike, a physical fight The wind around the willow A toll, a tithe, the passage of time The melting down the window The now, the then, the thinking of when The siren in the water The strike, the pause, the message from God Does that make me his daughter? A hand, a shove, a valley, a jump A score under the wire Just sweep me up Just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher Just sweep me up Just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher Just sweep me up Just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher