An old lady is Fate and she sits on a loom Weaving, weaving the Destiny's net...
Sad eyes she bears, of miseries made,
The miseries she sews for men's living bet...
An old spirit's Fate and she sits on a loom
Weaving, weaving the Destiny's gown...
Cold touch she owns, of strangled cries made,
The cries man will weep when beholding her frown...
An old fairy's Fate and she sits on a loom
Weaving, weaving the Destiny's cape...
Fair lips she shows, of deceitful kiss made,
The kiss that builds men out of pre-defined shape...
An old witch is Fate and she sits on a loom
Weaving, weaving the Destiny's sheet...
Sore hands she has, of running blood made,
The blood that runs always from men's tortured meat...
And old lady is Fate and she sits on a loom Weaving,
weaving mankind's Destiny...
Strong will she holds, of cursed paths made,
The curse she sets as men's fake liberty...
1996
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