A Month Of Sundays Lyrics - 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 

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 

Quit the plant in '57 

Had some time for farmin' then 

Banks back then was lendin' money 

The banker was the farmer's friend 

I've seen dog days and dusty days 

Late spring snow and early fall sleet 

I've held the leather reins in my hands 

I've 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 kept the clothes on out backs 

I always put the shoes on our feet 

My 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 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' of the wheels 

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 

I 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 and listen to the wind blow 

I sit here and rub my hands 

I it here and listen to the clock strike 

And I wonder when I'll see my companion again