“He’s got the whole world in his hands.
He’s got the whole wide world in his hands.
He’s got the whole world in his hands.
He’s got the whole world in his…”
I know all too well what it is like to have the whole world in my hands, the power at my fingertips astrum upon the strings of life and death. I had the whole world in my clutches, the ability to change somebody’s life forever with the strum of a single chord.
I know all too well the feeling of having the world trickle through my fingertips like sand, the power escaping as the string breaks.
The song ended; silence remains. My guitar now crying out for recompense. I had the whole world, but my guitar began dying.
I never wanted her to become part of this war. But life and death exist as different notes within the same song. For her beautiful melody crescendos and fades into the beginning of my song. The end is where we would meet.
To destroy my music puts her at risk. This breaks my heart and now more than ever, I feel the sand slipping through my fingers. If only I can grasp it before the notes of my song are forgotten to eternity’s shore.
But I am not here to walk among the symphony I can no longer hear. I am here to listen, and I hear your music fading, like mine. Your song, mi amigo, is heard in the lapping of the tide against your hull as yet another journey is complete.
But you hear it too, the fading of your song. You hear it in the screams of a desperate man unable to be ferried, his song stuck on repeat. And every breath he draws gives you that sensation, just as I feel it. The whole world in your hands, slipping through your fingers like sand upon the song of eternity.
Only, our songs are not the same. We cannot wish away the song because you do not like its notes, the music must play. You have tried to manipulate the notes of your song and all it has done is make matters worse.
You made the choice to let your song slip away. You pressed the button that burned your song to ashes. You started the fire, and now Drewitt is out to set your whole world on fire. You chose wrong, and your power wavers because of your choices. You were given the whole world in your hands, Drewitt trapped where you wanted him, and you threw it away.
I wasn’t given that choice, amigo, I didn’t misplay the notes of my song. But I have the power, the whole world in my hands, to fix that which has been broken. For you, and for me, the music must play.
The end is just the beginning of your song, but I play the notes. I have your whole world in my hands, for my song will guide you in the end.
“He’s got the whole world in his hands.”