Oh how frail stone turns
Here in may hand's hold
It slips away like sand therethroughIt rests a Midas-like curse
Here on my hand's holdI bear a Midas-like curseFrail
I feel my hands numb
A phrase
All through my handsGrains, till my old hand goes on, afraid
Tracing vane odes for the grave
Only vane odes for the graveI can not feel the texture
With my hand's thumb
As all I touch become trueThe evil Midas-like curse here in my hands
Make me unable to hold
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