Empty Hands
He rode in town on a white horse
With nothing in his hands
He came to gather his people
And take them to their promised land
When he came he knew there would be bloodshed
But still no violence made his plans
He came to fight in a battle
With no guns or money
But with his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
They said hey boy what you lookin'at
As they eyed his dreaded mane
He said my father has sent me
I've come back to reclaim
The children whose hearts
Were so whole and pure
Now it's you who'll die in pain
So they lynched the man
Who fooled the word
And all the children gathered
In his empty hands
In his empty hands
The children ..... empty hands
In his empty hands
With his empty hands
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Our Hands
My hands once warm,
And clothed in yours,
my hands once full,
and held in yours.
Empty hands,
Cold hands,
my hands have lost their,
Partner as you once were for me,
Your hands at once rough,
and soft,
Always gentle when in mine,
our hands would meet to fill the cold,
My hands now empty cover tears,
my hands once warm now with
a freezing touch,
your hands are gone,
the warmth they held has left,
these hands of mine.
poem by Rebecca Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty Hands!
empty hands
is the essence.
dreams, way of life.
life encompasses death!
empty hands, the way we live
empty hands, the way we die!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Walking With The Lover...
walking with the Lover...
i see empty fields plowed,
come alive with crops abundant.
empty factory buildings filled
with the ghosts of hard working lives.
empty houses lit up,
and the sounds of families.
empty hands given cups and bowls,
empty hearts held close!
empty words given meaning,
empty promises fulfilled.
walking with the Lover...
touching the plenty of empty!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty
try looking at my hands
they are empty now
for i have released
what fullness was there
what fist
what clenched hands i had
once they were so
beautiful
in bravery
but
then
there is always a threshold
of courage
suddenly you find hands opening
to the sun
hands without a grip
hands that wave goodbye
to all your friends
hands that
grasp nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stomp Your Hands, Clap Your Feet
Whoa!
Woo-woo yeah
Turn it up until it bangs your head
Tear it down now mother don't play dead
People stand the noise
All the little toys
Put some more coke on the fire
Stomp your hands
Clap your feet
Stomp your hands
To the beat
Stomp your hands
Clap your feet
Stomp your hands
To the beat
Mixed up kids lookin' for that night
They're getting higher everything in sight, well alright
The music's pretty loud
Someone in the crowd
Think they're gonna cause us a riot
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh
Stomp your hands
Clap your feet
Stomp your hands
To the beat, oh
Stomp your hands
Clap your feet
Stomp your hands
To the beat
Rock on, rock on, rock on
Yow!
How how how how how
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh
(Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh)
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh
(Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh)
(Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh)
Whoa-oh-oh-oh ho ho ho
Stomp your hands
Clap those feet, yeah
Stomp your hands
To the beat
C'mon boys
Stomp your hands
Clap your feet
Whoa-whoa, all night, yeah, yeah, yeah
Stomp your hands
(Oh whoa oh oh)
Clap your feet
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh
Stomp your hands
Clap your feet
Stomp your hands
To the beat
All night long
Stomp your hands
(Everybody)
Clap your feet
(Everybody stomp your hands to the beat in the heat yeah yeah yeah yeah woo!)
Stomp your hands
(Oh!)
Clap your feet
(Oh whoa whoa whoa whoa, rock all night, yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah)
Oh yeah
Stomp your hands
(Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah)
Clap your feet
(My my my, my my my my my my, my, my, m
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dreamed.... (Hands)
i dreamed last night...
and all i could see were hands.
sometimes hard and calloused,
sometimes soft and feminine.
skilled hands, laborer's hands,
loving hands, nurturing hands....
fingers digging in the dirt,
fingers holding a pen.
fingers playing a piano,
fingers unbuttoning blouses.
hands extended, hands gripping the rope,
hands holding the shovel,
hands covered with resin.
hands folded in prayer,
hands balled into fists.
hands stuffed in empty pockets.
hands that define both history,
and destiny!
hands scarred and bruised,
hands covered with age spots.
hands that speak many languages.
hands that know mistakes, and failures.
hands that built fires,
hands that put fires out!
hands that wiped away tears,
that picked up trash,
and revealed souls....
whose hands?
my hands, your hands?
god's hands?
does it really matter?
hands engaged and involved,
in the very act of living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty Hands
In the shadows of the smokestacks
Through the black snow, that lay on the land
Walked home one winter morning
With my live savings in my hand
Maryanne, shes fixin up some breakfast
Got the lights on, on the christmas tree
Sittin there, lookin up at an angel
With something dyin inside of me
Grew up with great expectations
Heard the promise and I knew the plan
They say people get what they deserve
But lord, sometimes its much worse than that
Maryanne, she takin in some laundry
I got a part time job in a drive-in stand
Oh lord, what did I do
To deserve these empty hands?
Chorus:
Across the cities
Across this land
Through the valleys
And across the sand
Too many people standin in line
Too many people with nothin planned
Theres too many people with
Empty hands
Now maryannes been cryin
lord knows, I love her the best I can
When my pride is bruised and broken
She slips her hand into my empty hands
Without hope, without love
Youve got nothing but pain
Just makes a man not give a dammn
Thats no way for us to live
Weve got to fill these empty hands
Chorus:
Across the cities
Across this land
Through the valleys
And across the sand
Too many people standin in line
Too many people with nothin planned
Theres too many people with
Empty hands
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fallen, Empty, And Broken
fallen soldier
fallen sky
fallen angel
from on high
fallen heartache
fallen soul
fallen man
losing control
empty bed
empty arms
empty dreams
empty heart
empty wallet
empty hands
cant take nothin'
from an empty man
broken promises
broken vows
broken spirit
wont allow
broken fences
broken lives
broken tomorrows
broken nights
fallen, empty, and broken
every road is the same
bent, bruised, and shaken
still numb from the pain
now you dont answer
when i call out your name
fallen, empty, and broken
walking in the rain...
fallen, empty, and broken...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Giving Back
this is what i have taken from you
many years ago
and you do not remember
i am now returning it back to you
with an open heart
my hands stretching out
to reach you again
you still wonder what was it
what is this all about
what i am giving back to you
i am giving you back this
empty heart these empty hands
this empty mind this openess
my gaping mouth
my hollow body
you still do not remember
many years ago
you have taken them all from me
and i was wearing that smile
of the willing victim
it is about time that you remember
the sadness that clings like a wilting vine on our fences
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Jar's Story
from the start
the hands that shaped you
designed you to be empty
you were named
Jar,
someone so
beautiful and rich
takes you
away from your
maker
those hands
cannot hold you for long
because they are
empty and hungry
hands
and then she fills
you with perfume
and all those who attend
the parties of the
world
dip their fingers
in your scent
they crowd around you
and you are loved
not for what you are
but what you
can give
scents, scents,
all scents
you begin to miss
your original form
the beauty that you
possess
when you were
once empty
you miss the whisper
of space inside
your belly
the hush of the wind
that rests in
your heart
you forget the name
that was given to you
Jar is your name
but are not one of them
anymore
you are the scent
of their necks
hanging on their
jaws and navels
your contents
fill now their fantasies
your hollowness
they now discard
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Contemplative...
an empty platter left
in the yard of green grass
filled with the songs of birds
as breakfast
to blend with the lyrics
of an
empty mind
an empty
stomach
those idle hands
and these
numb arms
the tranquil soil
begins to say those
prayers
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My heart is my hands
My hands
Is
Only my hands...
Not for
your hands....
So...
I want too work
My hands...
I want too serve
My hands...
I want to do about
Somthing of my
Hands...
My hands is
Free for only
Sleeping time only...
my hands is
working all the times
My hands not only
Hands...
It is human workers...
Allways for my friends...
My hands...is my heart...
My heart is my hands.....
Ok...How is your hands...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Written With Nails (For Terence)
metal jacketed truth bullets
spat from the empty tomb
on the third day, ...
grave clothes lying empty.
human stink garbage sweat grime,
hands reaching for hands...
candles made of flesh,
matches of dried bones.
truth lightning gentle weeping sorrow,
food bowls held by shaking hands.
eyes that see, hearts that feel,
simply living, by the fire!
spiritual writings written with nails,
compassion's hammers, caring's shovel...
lifetimes building shelters,
and planting gardens for the poor!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Race
Thinking on the childish longings,
Makes me laugh and takes again,
To the golden age when I played,
With the boys of the same size and age,
All we often ran and raced,
To see the end of the ball of the Earth,
Or touch the bending horizon,
Too blue, too near, too clear,
And to attain crimson hue of twilight,
Ah! But returned,
Out of breath with empty hands.
When we played in the meadows green,
The wings of the Moon-soon winds,
Did bring on the plains of the Punjab,
Flocks of clouds thick and dark,
Drifted by shepherds with sticks unseen,
That seemed landing upon the pastures,
We ran and raced under or along,
To possess the lowering object in hands,
Ah! But returned,
Out of breath with empty hands.
Oh! My friends I have been convinced,
To the thought that the floating world,
Is made of vapour or condensed clouds,
For in the days of youth, grown up age,
I ran the race with the faster pace,
After the world but could not catch,
And brought me now to the brim of grave,
Ah! But out of breath with empty hands.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Downtown Lights
Sometimes I walk away
When all I really wanna do
Is love and hold you right
There is just one thing I can say
It's all right, can't you see
The downtown lights
In love we're all the same
We're walking down an empty street
And with nobody callin' your name
Empty streets, empty nights
The downtown lights
*How do I know you feel it
How do I know you feel it
How do I know you feel it
How do I know it's true
Can't you see
Nobody loves you this way
It's all right
Tonight and every night
Let's go walking down the city streets
Let's walk in the cool evening light
Wrong or right, the endless sight
The downtown lights
It will be all right
It will be all right
The downtown lights
Yeah, yeah, yeah
(*Repeat)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Downtown lights
The neons and the cigarettes
The rented rooms and rented cars
The crowded streets, the empty bars
Chimneytops, trumpets
The golden lights, the loving prayers
Colored shoes, the empty trains
I'm tired of cryin' on the stairs
Downtown lights
It'll be all right
It'll be all right
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Misery n
Ive been misery n,
Ever since my daddy gone, yeah.
Ive been, honey, Ive been misery n, yes I have, now.
Ever since my, since my daddy gone, gone, gone.
But I believe that it wont,
Baby, it wont be too long,
If I just could hang on,
Yeah, until my, till my misery
Will all be gone.
Whoa, I said my rooms, you know,
Theyre so empty, empty, empty, empty, empty.
Filled up with sadness, sometimes, yeah.
My rooms are so empty, empty, empty, empty.
Child, filled up with sadness, honey, sometimes, sometimes.
Oh well it just, it just moves in,
Like the fog rolls in.
And I find i, well I cant see you, baby,
For my tears.
But Ive tried.
Dont you know Ive tried.
Cried, cried, cried, cried, cried.
Baby now, Ive been missin you.
Oh, Ive been missin you, babe!
Yeah, and it all seems to bother me
Much more that it seems it should be.
So, baby, now, now,
Baby, now, now,
Baby, tell me why,
Does it have to be
Oh, so wrong for me ?
I never thought I could ever want anybody,
No, no, no, never did, I never did.
Why am I feelin so strange ? ? ?
Whoaaaaa, I never, never, never needed nobody, no, no,
But maybe you could help me
Why am I feelin so strange ?
Yeah, an Ive got me a great,
An Ive got a great big bed
With two pillows for my head.
Hey, but lately I been sleepin, sleepin alone.
But Ive tried,
Dont you know Ive tried.
Cried, cried,
You know how Ive cried.
An, an baby, Ive been missin you.
Tried,
Dont you know Ive tried.
Cried,
Cried, cried, cried, cried,
Baby now, Ive been missin you.
Tried,
Dont you know Ive tried.
Cried, cried,
You know how Ive cried.
An, an baby, Ive been missin you,
Yeah ...
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Courtroom Is Empty
the courtroom is empty,
the gavel untouched.
no hands on the book,
no jury of twelve.
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
small children killed, tossed in the trash,
women abused, old people hungry, alone.
young girls sold into slavery
young boys sold into war
homeless ghosts walk the halls,
without hope in man or God.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air
(and the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
an American tragedy,
or just human tragedy.
justice bought and sold,
afforded by just the few.
the wheels of Wall Street turn,
politicians barter with lives.
drinking the blood of the babies
that will never be born!
the takers keep taking,
and the honest man falls
to die nameless in the ditch,
covered by ashes and dust.
and there's no sound, no feeling,
not even a breath of air.
(the hands of the clock
have stopped!)
the courtroom is empty
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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State Of Love And Trust
Oh...
State of love and trust as I busted down the pretext
Sin still plays and preaches, but to have an empty court, uh huh
And the signs are passin', grip the wheel, can't read it
Sacrifice receiving the smell that's on my hands...hands...yeah
And I listen for the voice inside my head
Nothin', I'll do this one myself
Lay her down as priest does, should the Lord be a countin'
Will be in my honor, make it pain, painfully quick, uh huh
Promises are whispered in the age of darkness
Want to be enlightened like I want to be told the end, end, yeah...
And the barrel shakes, and, a-directly at my head
Oh, help me, help me from myself
And I listen, from both sides of a friend
Nothin', I'll do this one myself
Uh huh, huh, oh...
Myself...myself...
Yeah, yeah...
Hey, na, na, na, na, hey, that's something (3x)
Wanna back, back it away, yeah, huh, uh
And I listen, oh, for the voice inside my head.
Nothin', I'll do this one myself
Oh, ah, and the barrel waits, trigger shakes, aimed right at my head
Won't you help me, help me from myself
Hmm...State of love and trust, and a...
State of love and trust, and a... (2x)
State of love and...yeah
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Of Empty Men (with Plenty Yen)
my hands are not of empty men
the empty men with plenty yen
but are of plenty pen
of its own word
to stick a broken
jaw of men
not so bad
as my eyes dare not meet any men
that hold to hurt a son of men
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Ad Manus Puellae
I was always a lover of ladies' hands!
Or ever mine heart came here to tryst,
For the sake of your carved white hands' commands;
The tapering fingers, the dainty wrist;
The hands of a girl were what I kissed.
I remember an hand like a _fleur-de-lys_
When it slid from its silken sheath, her glove;
With its odours passing ambergris:
And that was the empty husk of a love.
Oh, how shall I kiss your hands enough?
They are pale with the pallor of ivories;
But they blush to the tips like a curled sea-shell:
What treasure, in kingly treasuries,
Of gold, and spice for the thurible,
Is sweet as her hands to hoard and tell?
I know not the way from your finger-tips,
Nor how I shall gain the higher lands,
The citadel of your sacred lips:
I am captive still of my pleasant bands,
The hands of a girl, and most your hands.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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