I would not want to be a museum piece

In the corner of a lonely path, Singer, 
whispers to me to wake up to life. 
Create a flame of life, even as a young girl. 
Do not let my skills go its own way, 
drain to waste time in between the wheels. 
So I would like to cherish your hands around my neck, 
the pedals vibrant calves. 
I would like once again to sew 
Dress hem, stitched lace long way. 
I would not want to be a museum piece, 
I am alone to dust in the attic.