Fate, You Old Witch

Fate, you seamstress old witch Garments of life measured with line The misery of men, a fabric been stitched By your roughshod, wicked designs Buttons missed, or threading used frayed Throws muscular waste and decay The world, steeped in suffering has paid With the dystrophied lives you betray Impoverished styles you’ve miserly made While the hungry painfully wails Cut-corner fashions are endlessly weighed On your crooked, treacherous scales Celestial shop, contains all the cloth All the ribbons, the bows and the bands Yet beautiful clothes, are put-off with sloth? Or lie idle in withering hands? No orders come in, tailored and chopped For a dress spangle entrenched? And what of the suit, with sleeves to be lopped That for months sat on your bench? Your life shall be hemmed, in a straightjacket locked And laced with poisonous snakes By a white coat I’ve mended, with pockets I cropped And cut to your sickening tastes!