With my idle hands there's nothing I can't donBut be the Devil?s plaything baby and know that I've been usednYour lips are cold, they suffer menThey drag me under baby into your sufferingnnLet your hands do what they will donStand inside, make your maker?s movenAnd your eyes don't look the samenThey seem enervated, in denialnCast like stones like you been rode for milesnRode for milesnnMy eyes have seen, they have been shownnThis is an occupation to stand alonenI suffer you, you suffer menWe are the Devil?s plaything into this reckoningnnLet your hands do what they will donStand inside, make your maker?s movenAnd your eyes don't look the samenThey seem enervated, in denialnCast like stones like you been rode for milesnRode for miles