Enviar corrección: A month of sundays - Don henley

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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 &#39;cross the weathered faces and i watch the harvest burn
I quit the plant in &#39;57
had some time for farmin&#39; then
banks back then was lendin&#39; money
the banker was the farmer&#39;s friend
and i&#39;ve seen dog days and dusty days;
late spring snow and early fall sleet;
i&#39;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&#39;s been hard
to make ends meet
but i always kept the clothes on our backs;
i always put the shoes on our feet
My grandson, he comes home from college
he says, &quot;we get the government we ;
my son-in-law just shakes his head and says, &quot;that little punk, he never
had to ;
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&#39;
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&#39;m glad that i have quit
folks these days just don&#39;t do nothin&#39; simply for the love of it
I went into town on the fourth of july
watched &#39;em parade past the union jack
watched &#39;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, &quot;be prepared to ;
pray for the independent, little man
i don&#39;t see next year&#39;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 sit here and listen to the clock strike, and i wonder when i&#39;ll see my
companion again

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