Machine Hands

Sharp sticks and strong winds
The curl of his hair when his brains in the past
Small precious berries
Pulled, filled, and thrusted by machine hands
Twisted and grinning those machine hands

Worn shoes on rough skin
Calloused and broken like old train tracks
Eyelashes plucked thin
One at a time by machine hands
I am lifting those machine hands

Cold sweats on hot nights
Fingers of hatred pushing up out his mouth
Fingers of hatred pushing up out his mouth
His teeth are the daggers and his tongue is his doubt
His teeth are the daggers and his tongue is his doubt



Credits
Writer(s): Jordan Rapaport
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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