Your Hands into Mine - Tamas Wells
My ride could hardly raise her voice
I heard ceiling fans and noise
I tried to talk about the ways
But I measured out the grace
But your hands into mine
Your hands into mine
Size larger than the last
Arrived when I broke the glass
I would seldom take the stairs
In time for me to be aware
Of your hands into mine
Of your hands into mine
Of your hands into mine
Of your hands into mine
Of your hands into mine
Of your hands into mine