Betty's sewing machine

When I was young, I was handed a sewing machine
Not knowing that it really meant
An object old and rusty
It’s insides so stiff

Every piece of string tells a story
If only I could hear them for myself
Sit down to relive the memories
That sewing machine holds inside

The memories of Betty’s hands
Soft and delicate
Turning a new chapter
Sewing a new patch

I see her through the fine prints
The gold swirls and perfect scars
Which makes it so special to me
Whenever I think of her as I look up at the stars