lirik lagu the prophet’s hands – dawud wharnsby ali
holding to the wheel, each mile closer to conclusion
his knuckles and his strands of hair are slowly turning white
as he studies all the lines, like highways on his hands
he recalls how straight the road once seemed, as he is left wondering what’s right
the paths all curve and bend, sometimes he thinks they’ll never end
how much longer will he push on? how much more can he pretend?
the prophet’s hands
silken smooth and soft to touch
sometimes he needs thosе hands so much
to feel them clasp his own
let him now he’s not alonе
the prophet’s hands
if they could take over the reigns
if they could take away the strains
guide him to the end with the patience of a friend
oh allah, sometimes he needs the prophet’s hands
stepping out to work each day, come whatever weather
father of the house he holds worry in his hands
while she stays home left all alone
hands warn from too much ironing
t.v. churns out but illusion
claims to know but hardly understands
they greet but hardly meet, upon an endless dead*end street
while children break the stormy silence of the palms raised in defeat
the prophet’s hands
silken smooth and soft to touch
sometimes they needs those hands so much
to feel them clasp their own
let them now they’re not alone
the prophet’s hands
combined husband and wife
remind them why they share a life
clasp them both upon his heart
gently help them make a start
to hold each other as they’d hold the prophet’s hands
standing in the market square, so alive but void of life
we work and we sweat, and we struggle through each day
as our efforts scar our hands, this world stains us with demands
it’s hard to see life’s humour in the business games we play
as we gnaw our nails with stress, our fists and hearts pound so carelessly
with every effort forward, how much more can we digress?
the prophet’s hands
silken smooth and soft to touch
sometimes we needs those hands so much
to feel them clasp our own
let us know we’re not alone
the prophet’s hands
as we toil in the square
come up behind us unaware
playful palms across our eyes, teasing to help us realize
we need the jesting, joking, loving prophet’s hands
the prophet’s hands
silken smooth and soft to touch
sometimes we needs those hands so much
to feel them clasp our own
let us know we’re not alone
the prophet’s hands
if they could take over the reigns
if they could take away the strains
guide us to the end with the patience of a friend
oh allah, sometimes we need the prophet’s hands
oh allah, sometimes we need the prophet’s hands
oh allah, sometimes we miss the prophet’s hands
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