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I guess you had your reasons For the way you used to be Don’t why I couldn’t please you You just never had much faith in me There’s fine dust in the tire ruts now Along the old feed road They’re workin’ on a six year drought Just so you know
I can pull my weightI can hold my own I can sling that blade all summer long ‘Til the thistles fall And the pasture’s clear And the work’s all done for another year I can hold my own
The world was like a distant storm I could feel it on the breeze But it made so little difference here Just a whisper in the trees Mending fence for room and board Was mostly all I’d done For I was still a prisoner here In 1961
The sucker rod on the windmill creaks Now and then you hear a car There’s thunderheads across the southern sky But they won’t get this far There’s red ants by the graveyard gate They’re nearly all that moves And they carry on despite this heat I bet you’d tell me what that proves There’s fine dust in the tire ruts now The creeks no longer run But I am just a visitor here The drought won’t hurt me none
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