These hands - Marcel Visser

Hoofdmenu:

These Hands

Slipping and sliding and clutching to a friend

Tickle your back with these warm-blooded hands

Wipe your tears when there’s sorrow or pain

Or raise up these hands, and make rise the flame

These hands, these hands, are my friends 2x

Cooking curly kale, pumping a tire

Tie up a shoelace, making a fire

Playing the piano, plucking the guitar

Beating on bongo’s, or soaking the harp

These hands, these hands, are my friends

These haaaaaaands

Look at these fingers, isn’t it a miracle

I can do anything with them, if I want to

A surreal painting, a serious letter

A roof that protect us against bad weather

These hands, these hands, are my friends

These haaaaaaands

With these hands I can feel your silky sweet hair,

And wave at you from the top of the stairs

With these hands, I open the window

I pull up the blanket, and turn my pillow

These hands, these hands, are my friends, These haaaaaaands