The hands

When I’m lost . . . I find a way.
I hear voices. I feel them surround me,
pull me from the edge.
I close my eyes and . . . .

my luck keeps holding strong,
even when the boot comes down.
Waiting for the revolution but there’s no one around except the . . . hands out of nowhere, saving me again.
There’s always something there watching out for me,
if I’m suffocating, it gives me air.

Finally now I remember,
but where I’m going now, I’m not sure.
Only one thing matters much to me anymore.

I’m looking for you.
Can you imagine? You can’t think.
You won’t find a way this time to frighten me.
You’re running scared, now, always looking
over your shoulder for a place where
you don’t see my face. But my luck keeps holding so strong,
even with the state I’m in.
I’m like a revolution of one, even when I stumble I win.

Because there’s hands out of nowhere, saving me again.
There’s always something there, watching out for me.
When I’m suffocating, it gives me air.

I’m like a cat with only a few lives left
and I’m crawling through the shadows.
Watching my back waiting for the attack that I know is
coming . . . I feel it’s near.