Old hands. Old hands,
pick up her tea cup
that rests on the piano.
Time was, her future stretched further ahead,
now it sits smiling at the foot of her bed.

Old hands. Old hands,
spread apricot jam
over biscuits and toast.
Time was, the sunny days frolicked and played,
now they loll kindly in a swing in the shade.

How the years pass as her life is unfurled,
her fingerprints gracing the soul of the world.

Old hands. Old hands.

Vague memories of a noble steed
and the paladin I was
My horse was of a humble birth
I rode for justice' cause

He reared way up, hooves a flying
against the country dawning sky
There in the distance, the quarry
The proverbial, wanted bad guy

We raced along the grasslands
We dodged bullets and I hung low
Caught the bad guy and I jumped him
He drew his gun, but way too slow

I socked him in his jaw
and we tussled all around
he tried to hit me with a rock
that he found upon the ground

I was locked in the basement without any light
Chained to the furnace since Saturday night
A small bowl of dogfood, a bit of warm water
I was paying my penance, just like I oughta

I made the mistake, of not paying attention
The Queen took my silence, for a transgression
Which would it be, sharp whips or cold chains?
I smelled in the dark... the floor's bloody stains

You rascally being,
hollowing out the wood beam above my head!
Annoying sawdust alighting onto my lap
like flaky kindling, the discarded leftovers
of your new home, scattered and tossed aside
in the May breeze

We share an arena, a residence -
yours above the porch furniture
within the old ceiling.
Mine, my daily sit-ins with the rocker,
caressing the creaking floor beneath us.