Japanese hands

Outside I can hear the fireworks beyond the paper walls.

Where the symbols painted black and white – run together when the rain falls.

And the wind chimes across Kyoto each time the earth moves.

Was it the quake that shook me or was it – something to do with you?

And the hot wind heats the bamboo blinds. And your almond eyes always shine.

Sitting cool behind your painted fan.

All the secrets of the east conceal the beauty and the beast.

For tender is the man – in her Japanese hands.

Flesh on silk looks different than on a cotton sheet back home.

Where no one wears their hair like yours beneath those oriental combs.

And with your thirsty fingers running up and down my spine,

You forget the western woman when you’re sleeping on Kyoto time.

And the hot wind heats the bamboo blinds. And your almond eyes always shine.

Sitting cool behind your painted fan.

All the secrets of the east conceal the beauty and the beast.

For tender is the man – in her Japanese hands.

And the sky explodes. And the moon grows cold.

To the distant sound of drums.

And the sky explodes. And the moon grows cold.

As the dragons on the mainland wait to heat the sun.

In her Japanese hands.     In her Japanese hands.