Art hands,
Man oh man how I enjoy these art hands.
With the little speckles of the sky on the index,
The rock graphite smeared on the pinky.
The line of sun on the ring finger
Oh man, I wish I could keep it with me.
With a broom in three fingers
To sweep away the plain in each stoke,
To wash off any pain that still lingers
And replace it with a painting to be hold.
These art hands,
Man oh man how I love these art hands.
Cramping with every detail,
Consuming with every color,
Displaying how we felt,
Within a pallet of twelve wonders.
Using my magic wand as a director,
Using this mirage of colors,
Being able to create the beauty
Behind each butterfly's flutter.
My hands, my hands,
How I love my art hands.
Holding every part of my creation
Until I am ready to stand.
