Broken hands

We build with broken hands Keeps us impressed with our lies Almost courageous Enough to face our selfishness Unactive while we stand We save our legs for fist fights This absence maskes us jealous...

And it's a poor boy who's alive at best And mistakes the pulse inside his chest For the cartiledge between his legs And it's all he knows It's all he knows And it's a sad girl who sits and cries...