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 these great lands 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 them banks back then was lending money the banker was the farmer s friend i ve seen dogs day dusty days last spring snows and early fall sleets held the leather reigns in my hand 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 by pass and all night i listen to the rushing of the wheels the big boys they all got computers they got incorporated to me i just know how to raise things thats 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 nothing simply for the love of it went into town on the fourth of july watched them parade past the union jack watched them break out the brass beat on the drum one step forward and two steps back saw a sign on easy street said be prepared to stop pray for the independent little man i don t see next years crop and i sit here on the backporch in the twilight and i hear the crickets hum and i sit and watch the lighting in the distance but the showers never come and i sit here listen to the wind blow and i sit here and rub my hands and i sit here and listen to the clock strike and i wonder when i ll see my companion again