When I was young,
a song was sung
Of a land that was milk
and honey
Where people were rolling in money
Far over the billowy sea
And so one day I sailed away
with a heart that was light and sunny.
I came to the land of the free.
I asked you, is this liberty?
If there is no sun, there is no moon, there is no May,
there is no June, if you listen to the song of the sewing machine,
The babbling brook,
the summer time,
is just a lazy po et's rhyme,
if you listen to the
Song of the snowy marching
All through the day
A drizzling rain is flaying
Upon my window pane
And every drop is saying
There is no lover's lane
There is no song, there is no bird,
and God is just an other word.
If you listen to the song
of the flowing machine.
Linen, piles of linen
Stitchin', stitchin', cuttin', pinnin'
With no end and no beginning
That's the song of
the sewing machine
Sewin', sewin', ever sewing
Going nowhere, always going
Growing older, without growing
That's the song of the sewing machine
Tears, tears,
and yet more tears.
Nights that last a thousand years.
Courage for my souvenirs.
What am I doing,
and what does it mean?
There is no song, there is no bird,
and God is just a number one.
If you listen to the song
of the sewing machine.