These Hands

This hand of mine

Has a mind of its own

It's been places I don't know

Sometimes I feel

That it's been somewhere warm

Somewhere that I wouldn't go

But then again

My hand is not my friend

Acting like it owns the place and then

Never sleeping when I want to

Always has somewhere to go to

That hand of yours has a way of getting round

It's been seen all over town

Whether here or there

It's been sighted, biding time

Just waiting to be found

But then again

Your hand is not your friend

It's got ideas that don't have much

To do with what you're thinking

Wants no part of all your signing

But then again

Our hands are not our friends

They're leading lives of their own

They don't need us no more

Then we can want without looking

Can't talk without listening

No need to be