The things I touch turn to ashes
When silent gentle finger passes
Just the tip, yet like a fist
Sends all beneath into a mist
The things I touch die in pieces Fall and shatter to a recess Drops apart with no in holding Flakes away dead and molding
The things I touch fall to ruin Ripped apart the corpse strewn The heads are lost searching vainly For the rest dispersed insanely
The things I touch rot to silence Without the least bit hint of violence Muted like a grave grown over Left in solitary corner
The things I touch go all wrong Like the sun gone at the dawn Dark and dreary no believing In the darkness every leaving
The things I melt to nothing No longer do they stand for something Junk to be discarded later Crumpled bits of ink stained paper
The things I touch reflect myself When I am in great need of help It breaks my hope that they don't withstand The wasted flesh that is my hand
The things I touch die in pieces Fall and shatter to a recess Drops apart with no in holding Flakes away dead and molding
The things I touch fall to ruin Ripped apart the corpse strewn The heads are lost searching vainly For the rest dispersed insanely
The things I touch rot to silence Without the least bit hint of violence Muted like a grave grown over Left in solitary corner
The things I touch go all wrong Like the sun gone at the dawn Dark and dreary no believing In the darkness every leaving
The things I melt to nothing No longer do they stand for something Junk to be discarded later Crumpled bits of ink stained paper
The things I touch reflect myself When I am in great need of help It breaks my hope that they don't withstand The wasted flesh that is my hand