A hand, covered in thorns
Reaches out, grasps
My cheek, bleeds
I wake up
A hand, burning
Reaches out, caresses
My cheek, burns
I wake up
Be it burning or thorny
A hand is a hand
And I have neither
In this reality of mine
Dream or reality
A hand is a hand
To touch, feel
To live as one will
As I have no hand
Be it burning or thorny
I can’t live
And I can’t see