These Hands

This hand of mine
Has a mind of its own
It's been places I don't know

Sometimes I feel
That it's been somewhere warm
Somewhere that I wouldn't go

But then again
My hand is not my friend
Acting like it owns the place and then
Never sleeping when I want to
Always has somewhere to go to

That hand of yours has a way of getting round
It's been seen all over town
Whether here or there
It's been sighted, biding time
Just waiting to be found

But then again
Your hand is not your friend
It's got ideas that don't have much
To do with what you're thinking
Wants no part of all your signing

But then again
Our hands are not our friends
They're leading lives of their own
They don't need us no more
Then we can want without looking
Can't talk without listening

No need to be