These Hands (unreleased, Self Portrait) Songtext

von Bob Dylan

These hands ain't the hands of a gentleman,
These hands are calloused and old.
These hands raised a family; these hands raised a home.
Now these hands raise to pray the Lord.

These hands won the heart of my loved one,
And with hers they were never alone.
If these hands filled their task,
Then what more could one ask?
For these fingers have worked to the bone.

Now don't try to judge me by what you'd like to be,
For my life ain't been much success.
While some hands have power, but still they grieve
While these hands brought me happiness.

Now I'm tired and I'm old and I ain't got much gold;
Maybe things ain't been all that I planned.
God above, hear my plea, when it's time to judge me
Take a look at these hard-workin' hands.