Watching the bobbins,
   go up and down.
   Fine Irish linen
   for a ladies gown.
  
   One shirt a penny,
   seven in a tag;
   ten hours a day
   and her heart begins to drag.
  
  
   This never ending cycle goes on.
   But she promised she would never stay...
   for long.
  
   Rocking the treadle,
   ache in her soul.
   She keeps the rhythm
   and it takes a toll.
  
   Threading the needle,
   strains in her eyes.
   Old withered fingers
   steal her young girl's pride
  
   She's saving every penny she earns,
   because the passion for her freedom
   still burns.