These little hands of mine,

They know death more than they know life

They have put many to rest than they have brought any to life

They know the textures of soils

They know to wipe tears from multitudes

They know to embrace the pain of many

These little hands of mine

They have bid goodbye way more than they have said hello

They have served food that reeks of death

They are stained with hurt

  
These little hands of mine

God stain them clean

Give them rest

Let them rise for celebration

Let them clap for joy

Let them work and succeed

Rename them

For now all they know is to bury

Since the age of 7 they have buried

Since the age of 7 they have known graves

Since the age of 7 they have waved goodbye

Brand them with life

Brand them with joy

Brand them with success

Brand with change

  
The little hands of mine

Give them rest