His Hands

It was his hands she fell in love with
the slow twist of his supple wrist
as he pushed the hair back from her face
wet with crying

And his forearm smelled of dirt
and rain and plain hard work
she wiped her nose on his sleeve
and buried some of the hurt

His voice murmured sweet things
the rustle of unraveling
the creak of the back seat springs
and kisses and steam

Some they weak, some they strong
but everyone needs to belong
to someone
Some they weak, some they strong
but everyone needs to belong
to someone

They stepped out into the night
and walked the path of two headlights
out into an open field
an ocean of whispering wheat

She sat down on the cool ground
and laced her arms around
the pillar of his legs
and held on to his jeans

He stood under a moving sky
and told her what he'd left behind
words on words to define
his love for her

Chorus

Jesus, right then they held something
full of feeling full of meaning
and there was laughter in the sound
of time slowed way down

They walked back, headlights dim
she tossed her shoes in next to him
he reached across and helped her up
through the falling star dust

Some they weak, some they strong
but everyone needs to belong

It was his hands she fell in love with
the slow twist of his supple wrist
as he turned the wheel back around
and drove her into town