Empty are these hands

For they hold not a thing

The things that are dear to me

Are safe and sound, in your hands.

And all the important things

That I hold preciously

Do not reside in myself

But they are there, in your hands.

So hurt am I that the you from then

Is torn from me now

And all the things I ever owned

Are somewhere, in your hands.

My memories are precious and scattered and few

And I long for them to mulitply

For they are all I ever had

And now they're lost, in your hands.

That part of me has been ripped apart

Into bits and pieces in vain

In a never ending state of mourning

The things I never had, in your hands.