These Hands Songtext
von WHY?

I wear the customary clothes of my time
Like Jesus did with no reason not to die
Facing history with little to no irony
Like I′m some forgotten southern city Sherman raised
Still hid under thick smoke after all these years


These hands are my father's hands, but smaller
Soaked in paint thinner
Until they′re so dry, coming together
They make the sound of resisting each other
A shrill squeal like two moving rubber

Tires touching hide nothing
Hide nothing