Looking at the dress in her hand all tattered, she wasn’t sure how to begin to mend it. She had just a little roll of thread and that was her only dress. Night will come and it will be cold again. How was she to mend it? Feeling acutely in need of a bath she shifted uneasily on the seat, held the dress out in front of her and lamented…

What use is this, Lord?

What use is this anymore?

I have but an arm’s length of thread,

 a tired machine in need of repairs

but I have no strength left to try…

to try again as I have…

to make this work.

What use is this tattered dress?

 I am torn,


 torn right here

and there,

and there,

not brave enough to throw it out and freeze,

 not sure,

not sure I can fix this dress,

and Lord…o my sweet Lord, how?

How do I do this?

My eyesight fails me,

do not dim your light,

 I have no kerosene for my lamp

yet the sun moves still.

Won’t you make it stop?

 Let it stop for me…

your sun…

as it passes, let it, God,


let it stop for me.

I must mend this shredded dress

with a yard of thread,

light my lamp on nothing

and live on,

live on,

warmed by my very last clothing

but I have no drive left to get,


get up and use these hands,



 oh my dear dear God

 I can’t mend this shredded dress!


She set the machine, closed up one tear and started turning the machine, working it, and as she did she sang on…

An arm’s length of thread for a dress full of tears,

and I turn

and turn

 and turn,

not looking at how far down the sun has gone,

 how much thread I have left,

 I turn

and turn

and turn,

and seal the tears with my yard of thread.

And my Jesus…


holy Lord,

do you see that I try without any strength left

 to mend this battered dress?!

Yet you do not,

do not do,

you do not do what you do,

halt the day,

get this stink off me,

I Pray,

 I pray,

let this yard of thread spin for miles and miles

and gimme oil…

gimme oil in my lamp

and as it burns, ,

 let this all burn too…

this dress,

this old old machine…

and me.


They say the fire that night spread for miles and miles down that street, burning down houses, stalls, trees, man, animal, and no one, till this day, could find the cause of it, or where it started from.


3 thoughts on “PYROMANIAC

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