Songtexte I Sit And Sew - Ebonie Smith

I sit and sew—a useless task it seems
My hands grown tired, my head weighed down with dreams—
The panoply of war, the martial tred of men
Grim-faced, stern-eyed, gazing beyond the ken
Of lesser souls, whose eyes have not seen Death
Nor learned to hold their lives but as a breath—
But—I must sit and sew

I sit and sew—my heart aches with desire—
That pageant terrible, that fiercely pouring fire
On wasted fields, and writhing grotesque things
Once men. My soul in pity flings
Appealing cries, yearning only to go
There in that holocaust of hell, those fields of woe—
But—I must sit and sew
The little useless seam, the idle patch
Why dream I here beneath my homely thatch
When there they lie in sodden mud and rain
Pitifully calling me, the quick ones and the slain?
You need me, Christ! It is no roseate dream
That beckons me—this pretty futile seam
It stifles me—God, must I sit and sew?