Hands

I'd sell a piece of my soul
to run my hands over familiar skin.
I'd give away two hours of time
for seven seconds of bliss.
And I wouldn't regret any of it
because these hands are all that I've got.
These two hands are all that's mine.

The money's gone and the fire's cold.
My heart's wandering down dead ends.
It's getting lost in dark alleys.
Wild things never walk nice, you know.
They just borrow shelter before moving on.
But hands know how to find their way,
feeling in the dark.