Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands
What I often wonder is how she kept
From hearing love's demands
If in her loneliness she ever dreamed
Of following earthly commands, oh yeah
Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands

Touch is a language. What it you have to say to me?
Come and talk about it
Tell me where you're locked and where you're free
Brutality or tenderness
Our bodies are exchanged in all eternity, oh yeah
Touch is a language. What is it you have to say to me?
In this wilderness do we hurt or heal
Within our daily plans, oh yeah
Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands
Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands
Mother Theresa understood the laying on of hands

Epictetus probably slept with hands above the covers
Lost no sleep in counting sheep or numbers of ex-lovers
The thing about a stoic is he's always understated
I don't know about happiness but virtue's overrated

La la la la
La la la la
La la la la la la