Hands

My thought itself paints an image oozing through my hands like water.  
It paints the notes on the scores and through my hands, I make art that the eye cannot comprehend.  
My hands are puppeteers for god and his melody.  
Only my hands could hear his word his gospel.  
For my hand are the giver of life and Grimm reaper through its movement.  
The notes played revives the dead who's walk and the living who aren't.  
My hands are divine fruit of flesh drawing its aura by my natural narcissism.  
Yet it is well deserved by talent back up by the confidence of the All-mighty.  
My music is life while my hands are creation itself.