Hands

The boy only wanted to give mother something when all of her roses had bloomed.

Looking at him as he came rushing in with them knowing her roses were doomed.

All she could see was some thorns buried deep, and tears that he cried as she tened his wounds.

And she knew it was love.
It was one she could understand.
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.

He still remembers that night as a child on his mothers knee.
She held him close and she opend her bible, and quitely started to read.

And seeing a picture of jeasus he cried out, "momma he's got some scars just like me."

And he knew it was love.
It was one he coud understand.
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.

Now the boy's grown and moved out on his own, when Uncle Sam comes along.

A forgin afair but our young men were there and luck had his number drawn.

It wasn't that long till our called, he gave to a friend what he learned from the cause.

But they knew it was love.
It was one they could understand
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.

It was one they could understand.
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.