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 this great land
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 then
Banks back then was lending money
The banker was the farmer's friend
I've seen dog days and dusty days
Last spring snow and early fall sleet
Held the leather reigns in my hands
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 bypass
And all night i listen to the rushing of the wheels