The Hand - Annabelle Dinda

Every time a guy writes a song, he's a cowboy, a sailor
Playing with the world in his palm like the first pioneer
Every time he opens his mouth, it's a loud movie trailer
Clipping every image and sound he thinks proves he was here

A hand, a spike, a physical fight, a flash of light, a curtain
A toll, a tithe, the passage of time, a height, a dive, a burden
A girl, a night, a typical type, a siren in the water
A scroll, a nod, a message from God, a son, a Holy Father

Every time a guy writes a song, he's a sailor, a cowboy
Holding out the world in his palm like he made it himself
Every time I open my mouth, I think, "Wow, what a loud noise"
Still on the soapbox, just hoping I seem underwhelmed

The hand, the pen, the writing again, the wind around the willow
The felt, the ice, the passage of time, the melting down the window
The now, the then, the thinking of "when," the bottle in the ocean
The strike, the pause, the message from God forbid she shows emotion

This isn't rage, it's worth a mention
This is a fake internal tension
Sometimes, I spread out one opinion
And stand on its back to gauge attention
This isn't rage, it's too specific
I like to hate symbolic limits
This is no statement, I'm complicit
This is a dream, God put me in it

A hand, a spike, a physical fight, the wind around the willow
A toll, a tithe, the passage of time, the melting down the window
The now, the then, the thinking of "when," the siren in the water
The strike, the pause, the message from God, does that make me His daughter?
A hand, a shove, a valley, a jump, a score under the wire

Just sweep me up, just sweep me up and take me somewhere higher
Just sweep me up, just sweep me up and take me somewhere higher
Just sweep me up, just sweep me up and take me somewhere higher