Musings of a philosophical kind, while filing a screw

An iron screw. I file, I cut and slice. 
It needs to be of the right size.
I have pretty hands,
And they have cuts .

My fingers are strong,
And my eyes have held
The screw in their sight for long.

But I filed this one a bit too far.
A new one, and on I harp.
I walk in time collecting scars.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.