- - - 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.