De Qué Me Sirven Estas Manos

Hands
My soft hands
I say goodbye to them and the day
Seems to notice
Sadly melts
My mind must be stronger
I will have to use you again
To not see them again
Suddenly empty

Boring hands
That don't feel
Hands of joy
When they move
Outstretched hands
Waiting for another hand
To give them life.

What good are these hands for?
I don't know
They used to walk on her body
On her skin
As if sculpting a sculpture
Without her, what else
Could I do

I don't know, I don't know
Tell me
What good are these hands for?
I squeeze tightly
They want to move
Butterflies are back
I want to make them fly
And thus learn love

I must feel that I have hands
That go out to seek the sun
That feel warmth again
Against the poison
Of the evil of your humiliations
Of the eruption of your dresses
You were bread and you were wine
My blood in my veins
I can't lose them

Hands not yours
Of four, only two remain naked
Dying of sorrow
In the pockets
Wounded by disgust and oblivion

I want to delve into the deepest
Of the earth
I want peace afterwards
I want war
I feel paralyzed without value
I just want to caress your hands

And no
And if I call you
What good are these hands for?
I squeeze tightly
They want to move
Butterflies are back
I want to make them return
And learn love like that

And play anything hard, my friend
Rest your violin on my shoulder
The orchestra already knows of your agony
Direct through the time
That remains for you

What why are these hands for?
I already know
To feel the cold, learn
To keep your memory in them
To tremble with fear
If I lose you

What are my hands for now
If I can't
Interlace them and
Dream of you
Count from one to ten
From ten to zero
Or mold in clay with my fingers

To what end are these hands for
My son
Listen slowly to what I say
Hands are the world, the universe
The time of love...