A Month Of Sundays

I used to work for Harvester

I used to use my hands

I used to make the tractors and the combines

That plowed and harvested this great land

Now I see my handiwork on the block

Everywhere I turn

And I see the clouds 'cross the weathered faces

And I watch the harvest burn

I quit the plant in '57

Had some time for farmin' then

Banks back then was lending money

The banker was the farmer's friend

And I've seen dog days and dusty days

Late spring snow and early fall sleet

I've held the leather reins in my hands

And felt the soft ground under my feet

Between the hot, dry weather and the taxes, and the Cold War

It's been hard to make ends meet

But I always put the clothes on our backs

Always put the shoes on our feet

My grandson, he comes home from college

He says; "We get the government we deserve"

My son-in-law just shakes his head and says;"That little punk, he never had to serve"

And I sit here in the shadow of suburbia

And look out across these empty fields

And I sit here in earshot of the bypass

And all night I listen to the rushin' of the wheels

The big boys, they all got computers

Got incorporated too

Me; I just know how to raise things

That was all I ever knew

And now it all comes down to numbers

Now, I'm glad that I have quit

Folks these days just don't do nothin' simply for the love of it

Went into town on the Fourth of July

Watched 'em parade past the Union Jack

Watched 'em break out the brass and beat on the drum

One step forward and two steps back

And I saw a sign on Easy Street

It said "Be Prepared to Stop"

Pray for the independent, little man I don't see next year's crop

And I sit here on the back porch in the twilight

And I hear the crickets hum

I sit and watch the lightning in the distance

But the showers never come

I sit here and listen to the wind blow

And I sit here and rub my hands

I sit here and listen to the clock strike

And I wonder when I'll see my companion again