A Month Of Sundays

I used to work for harvester
I used to use my hands
I used to make the tractors
The combines that plowed
And harvested this great land
Now I see my handi work
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
Banker was the farmer's friend
I've seen dog days and dusty days
Late spring snow and early fall sleet
Held the leather reins in my hands
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 out backs
Always put the shoes on our feet
The grandson he comes home from college
He says we get the government
We deserve
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 suburbs
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
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
Listen to the wind blow
I sit here
And rub my hands
I sit here
Listen to the clock strike
And I wonder when I'll see my
Companion again