Right Hand of Offense

Note – this could be considered a bit gruesome.

A while back I was reading a book that compared Jesus’ teaching in Matt. 5:29-30 (“if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and cast it from you;”) to a story of a man whose hand was trapped by a rock out in the wilderness. He was forced to cut off his own hand in order to escape.

Anyways, this made me want to write a song using the analogy of being trapped by one’s right hand, and that hand representing one’s sinful nature. “Killing” the sinful nature is tough stuff but we’ve gotta be brutal. I got the inspiration to start writing during my week at Rock Sands cottage (the place is great for inspiration!) I don’t have a tune in mind yet, but I’ve pretty much got the lyrics down. The song style would probably be along the lines of Project 86 (think “A Shadow on Me” mixed with “Spy Hunter”). As for the ending, well, ya, that could be adjusted as necessary.

By Chris M. Sissons

[verse 1]

As here I lie / trapped under the endless glare of bronze sky (as here I die).
Unfulfilled thirst. / The grit of sand between my teeth belies, (the end is nigh),
the stinging fact – / I’ve dug my grave in this mirage.
Candied concrete / exerts increasing weight, a sickly sweet barrage.

Grasping digits, / my right hand clutches razor blades of gold, (riches untold?)
now crushed beneath / the jeweled border sitting where it’s rolled, (it’s toxic mould).
With all my might / I try to free my hand from ‘neath the treasure.
My grip’s too tight, / my knuckles white – the last resort is drastic measure.

This wayward hand will be the death of me.

Your list of offenses grows long, / oh, right hand.
I’ve suffered your treason too long, / oh, right hand.
It’s either you or my life / and I’m choosing the knife –
best maimed than cast whole to the pit / oh, right hand.

[verse 2]

These many years / it seems I’ve grown quite attached to you, (oh yes, it’s true).
Your crafty ways / have reaped me plastic smiles, not a few. (But now we’re through.)
The pile’s high, / the mass of this ill-gotten waste has grown.
I can’t deny – / this once was glee which now grinds down on bone.

This weight besets, / a trap that locks me in this desert land (of burning sand).
My options are: / die here or leave this place and my right hand. (Heed the command.)
From sheath to wrist / the blade is poised to end this reign of sin.
The flesh’s screams / are soon cut off as metal bites through skin.

This wayward hand I cast away from me.


Lord, grant me strength to sever the old man.
This pain will hurt him worse than it will me.
Lord, guide the knife according to your plan.
Starve the old, feed the new.
Leave what’s died, abide in You.


This wayward hand won’t be the death of me! [x3]
This wayward hand I cast away from me.

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