His fingers were the wind.
They reached into my heart
And let me love again.
His touch was made for pleasure,
So good it seemed a sin.
Stroking my soul, keeping me whole,
Till I gave myself to him.
His hands, they never hit me sober.
His hands, they never marked my face.
I would rather be blind,
Than see him treat me that way.
I would rather be deaf,
Than hear that sound,
Like a pistol cracking,
As the spirit breaks
And loves comes tumbling down.
He learned it from his father,
And from his father's wife.
He learned from the preacher,
Who told her they were married for life.
And if I'd had his children,
They might have learned from me.
I finally ran when I saw that his hands,
Would sign that legacy.
He said, "I've broken stallions.
I've broken mares too.
Given time, and the right frame of mind,
I swear, I'll break you."
So, come on you pretty women,
Who think that you're too smart,
And learn from one who loved a damaged heart.
There are some things you can gamble.
There are some things you can change.
But you can't change a man,
With the law in his hand.
It's like trying to drown the rain.
His hands, would never hit me sober.
His hands, would never mark my face.
They would rather be blind,
Then to treat me that way.
They would rather be deaf,
Than to hear that sound,
Like a pisotl cracking,
As the spirit breaks,
And love comes tumblin' down.
Contributed by Franca Cecchinato - 2008/11/6 - 10:24
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