Hour after hour the pinner sits in her room
Coiling and honing, she works in the gloom
She works with an aching even spring can't dispel
The best in the county, all but one she will sell
Each day she runs at the setting of the sun
With a hope in her heart as the shadows grow long
To the chapel she goes, past the fields and the barn
And she offers the stone the best of her charms
Day after day she takes brass wire and bone
Coiling and honing she works on alone
She works with a fever, as the seasons they spin
Each day she's hoping for that one perfect pin
Each day she runs at the setting of the sun
With a hope in her heart as the shadows grow long
To the chapel she goes, past the fields and the barn
And she offers the stone the best of her charms
Year after year the pinner grows old
Failing eyesight and fingers, her pins go unsold
Her pins go unsold and they fill up that room
Filling bottles and boxes as the copper turns blue
Each day she walks at the setting of the sun
With a hope in her heart as the shadows grow long
To the chapel she goes, past the fields and the barn
And she offers the stone the last of her charms