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Hands

Oh what have we done
These hands and myself
What dastardly do-knots have we unsung?
Such bitter blood
So sorrowfully spilled
Twas these hands
I swear it!
Twas these hands indeed!
Merciless murderers
Might they be the culprits
And I be set free
She was but a woman
Just a summer lick of lavender day
Far too lovely a lass
Far too lovely for me
These hands just had to take her away
They are murderers
I know this
Believe not what they say
Show not compassion or mercy
Show not pardon or face
Strike them down and do not delay
For these hands are killers
Destroyers of grace



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