The lines on my hands are fine, the design is exquisite, technology cannot copy it. The lines on my palm tell a story -- the journey of my life. On it is inscribed years of glory, light, and love. These hands will hold everything: tears, laughter, joy, pain. These hands will share everything: love, mercy, hope, strength.
The holes in your hands are real -- they hold on to nails hammered by sin, anger, evil, and deceit. The holes of your hands fit my heart: encasing it with grace, faith, and pure love.
Your hands keep mine from slipping (through), they hold me tight in a fallen world. They pull me up to safety, to your higher presence, to your eternal kingdom. My hands stay warm in a cold world. Thank you for the fire that lives within.
