I hold your hand in mine, dear, I press it to my lips,
I take a healthy bite from your dainty fingertips.
My joy would be complete, dear, if you were only here,
but still I keep your hand as a precious souvenir.
The night you died I cut it off, I really don't know why,
for now each time I kiss it, I get blood stains on my tie.
I'm sorry now I killed you, for our love was something fine,
and 'til they come to get me, I shall hold your hand in mine.