These war-filled hands have seen many a fight.
These war filled hands have brought scorn and fright.
These hands bring waste and destruction where i go, they bring tearful emotions and death oh so slow.
These hands have been scarred and used unconditionally they have been thrown and kept hidden and underestimated exponentially.
I write my words with these hands I bring thoughts into existence, I bring imagination to life so your reality seems sickening.
I keep these words diverse and my mind open to life, my hands paint these pictures and open color to your blond sight.
I speak different i speak complicated i speak irrational i speak obligated. Whether I'm mute or pondering thoughts I seek information from the world today.
My hands seek refuge and information for their hunger for action has been delayed.
They haven't seen the light of day,
they haven't felt the warmth of sun,
they haven't hurt any in some time, they haven't fought a battle, not one.
I fold my hands to rest them, so be sure not to test them for they are hungry for a new victim,
so leave them alone and see yourself home for if you test, your time will tick tock.
It will wind down and after your frown the darkness my hands shall bring, so leave me alone and be set, be gone because starting now...
my hands will bring war.
