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Imperfect Hands
Middle Sattre
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
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The hands that made me aren't of flesh and blood
With perfect templates, imperfectly drawn
When time runs out, they will fix this flaw
Why would I wait for a natural cause?
Why would I wait for a natural cause?
Just one degree beneath an act of murder
I don't trust myself not to take this further
I'm bound to bend my entire life
Why would I give myself that time?
Why would I give myself that time?
My first night spent in somebody's bed
My twitching fingers, my shaking legs
Right when I thought I was going to die
Full body pressure, he held me tight