These Hands

This hand of mine Has a mind of it's 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