Between these hands   Behold   What should be solid    pours through the cracks in the floor   And more   Always more   The grip is slipping   The grip is slipping      Clench the hand   As is moves   It spasms   It spasms      Within these arms   The world   A twisting feeling   What a very thing to hold   And score...   Yet score   Scratch the deepest   Cut to the core      Flex the arm    As it moves   It spasms   It spasms      Between these hands