Hands

Bugs are picking at my skin The ghosts are pulling on my limbs I hear footsteps above my head There's whispers that I hear being read My mind is lost in outer space My body looks out of place I'm trapped inside a narrow hall Six feet under in wooden walls But you can't fix what's too late We just move on There are no last words to say That's just the way things are Bugs are picking at my skin The ghosts are pulling on my limbs I'm trapped inside a narrow hall Six feet under in wooden walls Sew... sew me with the skyline The climb up to heaven is too high and at the gates Angels bless the martyrs I've only died for love and that's all my hands will show