I ask what will be lost? Even your hand? But I have wagered the cost of even your hand.
I broke the news to you on Friday night. You held up your fingers (to show my loss). How even, your hand.
I asked you: in all the winter mornings, what will you do? By you will grow the frost uneven; your hand.
For night, you had an answer too. By the moon, truth would not be glossed, without even your hand.
But what will suffice for a night without dreams, I asked you? But rest will not be bought, by not even your hand.
When they find the one who killed you, what will they say? It was a shadow that crossed even your hand.