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The water fell upon my hands

Hands of small, they bind and band

What I notice; precious hands — oh, the precious hands

But the lines — oh! The lines,

they are broken as I find

The lines, the lines, those precious lines!

Oh, how they all shatter blind

I showed a girl, so she was flattered,

but there was a devil within the show

that I find in the lines

There are germs in here

Oh, some germs, right here

They vacate in the lines

darkened by the great light

But there’s a deeper evil that hides within — 

I can’t escape the skin I’m in

Disease lurks in those evil lines

Shivers run straight down my spine

Oh! My spine, my reckless, aching ache

The spine and the soul those eyes resent to behold

But the lines, oh! The lines

Look so into mine

All souls and all auras can’t escape the sacred Torah

Or the fragrant-like señora lurking in the vast Sonora

But the flora, oh! The flora

that, sung by the sweet señora,

tells me that Satan is coming,

and he’s running through my hands

I flush four times after excrete and

I cut four times my meat

but I wouldn’t dare take a seat without counting the sacred lines

Each line; so powerfully fine

I dive into the crevices and

I dive into the lattices

that form in those ancient lines

The lines, oh! The lines

Those sacred ancient lines that crack through my palms

And I read from the Psalms that

God is good, undressed my hood,

but along with resignation, I am

sent with condemnation to a more superior nation

where the kids had all played

So I say, just to say — 

there’s a monster here today,

and he never roams or strays far from life — 

any life, or me

So when I sit within watery graves

I pray with hands forsaken to be saved

and I count,

and I wash,

and I count,

and I wash,

and I watch that precious water

touch upon my impure skin

So the Devil lurks now and then

Upon his fiery pit, I stand

The water fell upon my hands