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My Little Seamstress

My little seamstress
She’s not haute couture
But you should see her when she sews
The hems to my heart
 
My little seamstress
Knows the measures
Of my frenzied heart
At work in the anthill
 
Holes in knits
And frayed stockings
Over time you see
Everything's made in factories
Gone are the artisans
Today you have “artists”
The hour belongs to spendthrifts
Bees in bodices
 
Throw out the reels
Yes, the film’s at its end
The gabardine’s time is past
Leave your job
To other workers
To others in solidarity
In other anthills
To other seamstresses
There’s a few lost eyelets
Hanging from button holes
When the stitches of seams
Become sutures of a regime
 
E-commerce embroiderers
It’s the age of unemployment
It’s the hour to throw in the towel
To dampen the handkerchiefs
Dress the skirts
Over rags of straw
’Cause all the bosses
Have left us down and out
with nothing to our name
 
My little seamstress
She’s not haute couture
She’s ready-to-wear
To bear the world
 
My little seamstress
Knows the measures
Of my frenzied heart
At work in the anthill
 
Finished the time of the cherries*
Scarves for two**
Even to the factory
One has to say goodbye
 
Thanks very much my dear master
Thanks very much my good sir
For always giving me something
To piss my eyes out***
 
They don’t speak for us
They sell our souls and that’s all
They’re good at making promises
And we’re good at playing the subordinate
The needle’s been planted
In the heart of our friends
Throw the dice at sewing
The future’s broken
Laces about our hearts
Chains at our feet
Gone are the flowers and buttons
Stashed in bustiers****
 
My little seamstress
She’s not haute couture
But you should see her when she’s at
The hems to my heart
 
My little seamstress
Knows the measures
Of my frenzied heart
At work in the anthill
 
Of my frenzied heart
At work in the anthill
 
My little seamstress
My little seamstress
My little seamstress
My little seamstress
My little my little my little seamstress
 
Working class men, nothing but a shadow left of our hearts
That we’ve left bleeding at the bottom of the gutter
On the avenues
The revolutionaries always stretch their hands out
To folks who have their reservations
Forever at the raging metal machines
At the factory
She’s going back to work
She’s going back to the mine
My pretty doll
She assembles, she tightens our bolts
She’s not haute couture
She’s rather ready-to-wear
To bear the world
My little working class gal
Is busy in the anthill
She’s going back to fight
 
’Cause everything is turning around here
Quite madly, I should add
’Cause everything is turning around here
Quite madly, I should add
Yes yes yes
Quite madly
Quite madly
Yes yes yes
Quite madly
Quite madly
 
Among the bourgeois lackies
If it’s rather Versailles
That floats their rebellious boat
Grannies’ rock n’roll
If it isn’t the age
Where comrades dream
Of friends and solidarity
If that’s not in vogue
If the age is fashion
Every night at the job
When it starts to be misery
I think I’d always prefer
The machine
My little seamstress
She tightens the bolts
To say that we’re sorry for
The assembly lines now
In countries of warmer climes
In countries with lower salaries
In countries of greater beauty
The working class girl is lost
Seeks a change of profession
The boss has closed down
All the cotton fields
 
The boss has closed down
All the cotton fields
 
The boss, the boss, the boss
 
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Ma petite couturière

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