My eyes are sharp,
And my tongue is sharper,
Yet my hands are sharper still,
Each finger is a knife,
My palm is a buzzsaw,
Every crease,
Just another blade,
And if you asked me to hold your hand,
I would,
If I could,
But I can't,
For my eyes are sharp,
And my tongue is sharper,
Yet my hands are sharper still,
And I don't want to hurt you.
