Invisible Hands

I wake with marks around my throat
It’s the work of invisible hands
They carve «GET OUT!» into my arms
So warn the invisible hands
There’s a red slap mark on the dead Pope’s ass
Feel the touch of invisible hands
When knives from the kitchen drawer
They’re flung by invisible hands
Invisible hands
Invisible hands
The cold, dead touch of unseen hands
Wet handprints spear my TV screen
I am watched by invisible hands
I tumbled down three flights of stairs
I was pushed by invisible hands
From a noose hung from an attic beam
I was hung by invisible hands
My corpse sways gently in the breeze
As though rocked by invisible hands
Invisible hands
Invisible hands
The cold, dead touch of unseen hands
Hands!
Invisible hands
The cold, dead touch of unseen hands