Small Hands

Life and living, just ain't the same
Call me a cynic or call me insane
I'll be waiting for you to come home
Waiting by the station, all alone

Am I not what you expected
Am I not what you need
Am I a man who does not fit your needs
Are my hands too small for your dirty deeds

Jesus christ you don't look so well
I never seen you look so frail
I know I said I was yours for forever
But drinking all this whiskey doesn't make it any better

But I'll be waiting now, I'll be waiting for forever
I'll be sitting down, drinking loud and hard
Staring at my wrists, wondering if they bend
Hearing about men, men who share my name

Write on your arm, just how it feels
To grow a year older, to reveal
The marks on your neck, and the sadness in your eyes
Shaking knees when you finally arrive

A glowing orange hand with nineteen fingers
One for each of your years
Rested on my neck and dug into my back
Blinded both my eyes and won't come back