Hands Full of Tools

Not the touch of a lover
Nor the love of another
We lay without lust in the dark.
And the story she bled
Of a man and his dead
Spoke the fiction of life
And of wisdom and fools
And I touched as a man
With his hands full of tools.

Not the touch of a lover
Nor the love of another
When she shivered I stopped and I cried.
Although our love began
As the night laughed and ran,
While the rain looked back up
To the sky from small pools,
I had touched as a man
With his hands full of tools.

Not the touch of a lover,
The love of another,
Nor tender caress of a friend,
But a passion to drown
Of a man come to town,
With answers, and burden,
His gloves, and his rules,
A man with his suitcase and tools.