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 lendin' 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 I've 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 kept the clothes on out backs;

I 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 the suburbs

and look out across these empty fields

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

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

I went into town of 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,

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

I sit here and rub my hands

I it here and listen to the clock strike,

and I wonder when I'll see my

companion again