grasped raze your broken hands healed into hammers, stronger than anything you could have dreamed in their place. you don't know where the blood goes. things once grasped are pummelled, pounded, battered into submission, and if your hammer hands could think for themselves they'd think, good. now you know how we felt before we were what we are. it doesn't matter what you are. now you know. 150202 what's it to you? who go blather from