When your hands feel so light they drift across everything with a swift grace, as if carried by strings. The way they lay so elegantly upon anything they may touch, only to quickly depart from their standing position only to further drift onto another task.

Yeah, you know that feeling.

The way they caress inanimate objects, as if they were lovers. With so much care and so much emotion, those ten digits just swim through the air in intimate delight, as if they were birds waking at dawn to catch an early meal.

The overture plays, come morning, come morning.

Whether punching numbers into a calculator, or grasping a pen and printing, it is all done with such courtesy and prosperity. It almost seems as if they have a mind of their own, and you have forgotten they are even yours, and instead of controlling them, you are just watching them move and complete whatever task they may be doing.

Yeah, you know that feeling.

They mold and shape into different monsters and creatures, elaborating every decision, enveloping every emotion, insinuating every belief. Even when you are asleep, they walk, they talk, they make your money, they keep swimming, but now through unconscious submission, yet you are still watching their engulfing spectacle. Soon you will realize that you must control their ambitions, and they will fall dead and submissive, waiting for your every command.

The overture plays, come morning, come morning.