| Give me your hand in spirit | 
| Give me your hand in flesh | 
| Give me your hand in living life | 
| Give me your hand in death | 
| Give me your hand in grief | 
| Give me your hand in grace | 
| Give me your hand in relief | 
| Give me your hand in faith | 
| Baby in a backpack | 
| The pack is on the front so it’s a bum bag | 
| The bag is higher up and on a chest strap | 
| Norman Reedus got that baby | 
| In what’s basically a backpack | 
| This grey place is | 
| Full of grey faces | 
| Day changes to night | 
| Tonight then they’ll change places | 
| Strange cases | 
| Of unexplained traces | 
| Of our saving grace we remain gracious | 
| It’s in our innate natures | 
| So we may just make it | 
| Through the acres of aches and pains for ages | 
| And if it wasn’t for the aegis of fate | 
| We’d be just pieces of meat on a plate | 
| But we’re so much more | 
| When we climb and then find what we look for | 
| For the razor’s as fine as a tiger’s claw | 
| While the rain in the sky just pours | 
| Give me your hand in humility | 
| Give me your hand in fear | 
| Give me your hand in fragility | 
| Give me your hand in tears | 
| Give me your hand in candour | 
| Give me your hand in pain | 
| Give me your hand in the baking sun | 
| And give me your hand in the rain | 
| Baby in a backpack | 
| The pack is on the front so it’s a bum bag | 
| The bag is higher up and on a chest strap | 
| Norman Reedus got that baby | 
| In what’s basically a backpack | 
| This rain won’t wash away our sins | 
| Whether committed before today or since | 
| But all your virtues that you were choosing to hurt you | 
| They are cleansed | 
| Death usurped life’s throne, overthrown | 
| Overgrown, overdosed, obey your prince | 
| Human nature’s a frail thing | 
| Like a day-old infant pale-skinned | 
| Building bridges, building bridges | 
| Wielding kids, revealing rifts | 
| In the peeling edges of the fabric | 
| Of what’s real in the tilt-shift pictures | 
| The gods are jilted, it just feels ridiculous | 
| Filled with wickedness | 
| Realness wilting with willful ignorance | 
| Real talk, it will steal your innocence | 
| Give me your hand in panic | 
| Give me your hand in haste | 
| I know you can handle yourself, but damn it | 
| Just give me your hand in case | 
| Give me your hand in hope | 
| Give me your hand in despair | 
| Give me your hand, I’ll hand you the rope | 
| You can hang with me or hang there | 
| Baby in a backpack | 
| The pack is on the front so it’s a bum bag | 
| The bag is higher up and on a chest strap | 
| Norman Reedus got that baby | 
| In what’s basically a backpack | 
| Death Stranding | 
| Grabbing necks, strangling | 
| Out of breath, panting | 
| Sweat glands in effect and every hair standing up | 
| Headbanging like an egg scrambling | 
| Dismantling the myth | 
| Phantom in the midst | 
| Ambience, this anthem is a hit | 
| And so I suggest | 
| That you better get dancing | 
| To the best damn thing ever | 
| This planet has left in its habitat | 
| The actual sonic manifestation of a panic attack | 
| Dismantling the tabernacle of rational thought | 
| Everything that’s ever happened has warped | 
| There’s a tap at the door | 
| You better answer it, it’s an evangelist | 
| Bearing a manuscript | 
| And if he’s left hanging for a little too long | 
| There’ll be death stranding, you’ll be gone | 
| Give me your hand in dignity | 
| Give me your hand in doubt | 
| Give me a hand in giving me | 
| Whatever gifts you’re handing out | 
| Give me your hand in sorrow | 
| Give me your hand and say | 
| That you’ll give me your hand tomorrow | 
| Once you give me your hand today | 
| Baby in a backpack | 
| The pack is on the front so it’s a bum bag | 
| The bag is higher up and on a chest strap | 
| Norman Reedus got that baby | 
| In what’s basically a backpack |