The Hands

The hands.

You’re trying to warm the steel.

But it will just steal your warmth

And grow cold again, but so cold you will feel.

So don’t try to make the steel warm,

Hoping that then it will warm you someday.

Don’t try to tame the storm.

Don’t waste your days away.

The stones are falling down on us.

Stones of poisoned and unfulfilled hopes.

But who’s throwing these stones - who does?

I think that it’s us who pull the ropes.

The ropes are all in our hands.

And we all seem to be on the ropes.

Does it scare you when you understand,

That we can all turn into stones?