A Month Of Sundays - Don Henley

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