Seamstress of my fate, behold:
This side of my is crass and cold,
Is not unsuited for a war.
Oh, seamstress of my fate, therefore,

Could you conceive a way or two,
Concealing things that I could do,
Veiling vile things that I could say.
Oh, seamstress of my fate, I pray!

For when you sow this future now,
I would not want this side to show,
Would want a dress of flowers dried,
Where not one stubby blade could hide.