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View Carrie Newcomer – The Work Of Our Hands Lyrics | Lyrics of new songs.
[VERSE 1]Today a while it rained, I washed the jars[?], set the water to start
And at the end of the day line up to cool and see
12 pints of spiced peach jam, 20 jars of dill beans canned
From an old recipe, that my mother gave to me
Because it’s good to put a little bit by
For when the late snows fly
All that love so neatly kept
By the work of our hands [INSTRUMENTAL] [VERSE 2]Lay hands on boards and bricks and loud machines
With shovels and rakes, and buckets of soup they clean
And I believe that we should bless evеry shirt ironed and pressed
Salutе the crews out on the roads, those who stock shelves and carry loads
Whisper thanks to the brooms and songs, dirty boots and coveralls
And bow my head to the waitress and nurse
The work of our hands so faithful and true
I make something barely there, music is a little more than air
So now every year I’ll put by tomatoes and pears
Boil the lids and wipe the lip with a calloused fingertip
And I swear by the winter ground
We’ll open one and pass the thing around
Let the light catch the jar, amber gold a falling star
It’s humble and physical, it’s only love made visible
Hell, now I understand, it’s just the work of our hands [INSTRUMENTAL]
And at the end of the day line up to cool and see
12 pints of spiced peach jam, 20 jars of dill beans canned
From an old recipe, that my mother gave to me
Because it’s good to put a little bit by
For when the late snows fly
All that love so neatly kept
By the work of our hands [INSTRUMENTAL] [VERSE 2]Lay hands on boards and bricks and loud machines
With shovels and rakes, and buckets of soup they clean
And I believe that we should bless evеry shirt ironed and pressed
Salutе the crews out on the roads, those who stock shelves and carry loads
Whisper thanks to the brooms and songs, dirty boots and coveralls
And bow my head to the waitress and nurse
Tip my hat to the [?] clerk
All those saints with skillets and pans
And the work of their hands
Work of their hands
The work of our hands so faithful and true
I make something barely there, music is a little more than air
So now every year I’ll put by tomatoes and pears
Boil the lids and wipe the lip with a calloused fingertip
And I swear by the winter ground
We’ll open one and pass the thing around
Let the light catch the jar, amber gold a falling star
It’s humble and physical, it’s only love made visible
Hell, now I understand, it’s just the work of our hands [INSTRUMENTAL]
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