A Month Of Sundays - Don Henley

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 these great lands

But 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 farming them

Banks back then was lending money

The banker was the farmer’s friend

I’ve seen dogs day, dusty days

Last spring snows and early fall sleets

Held the leather reigns in my hand

And felt the soft ground under my feet

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

Its 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 by pass

And all night i listen to the rushing of the wheels

The big boys, they all got computers

They got incorporated to

Me, i just know how to raise things

Thats 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 nothing

Simply for the love of it

Went into town on the fourth of july

Watched them parade past the union jack

Watched them break out the brass, beat on the drum

One step forward and two steps back

Saw a sign on easy street said «be prepared to stop»

Pray for the independent little man

I don’t see next years crop

And I sit here on the backporch in the twilight

And I hear the crickets hum

And I sit and watch the lighting in the distance

But the showers never come

And I sit here listen to the wind blow

And I sit here and rub my hands

And I sit here and listen to the clock strike

And I wonder when i’ll see my companion again