My hands have brought and done so many things
Remembrance of such foul acts do still
My heart, its beat doth flow and softly sings
Laments that my bare hands aim to fulfill
Soft muscles tense as pain breaks into bone
An ample, swift, and nimble ploy enhance
Your fear as I step in on you alone
The face of one who loves as I advance
Now I would dare to state the hubris claim
Of those who sought to steal my love again
My hands are poor, a sign for such acclaim!
A death, I caused, can only bring them pain!
My love was pure, and now my spirit free
My hands can’t hurt if the victim is me