my grandfather was a sailor he blew in off the water my father was a farmer and i his only daughter took up with a no good millworking man from massachusetts who dies from too much whiskey and leaves me these three faces to feed now millwork ain t easy millwork ain t hard millwork it ain t nothing but an awful boring job i m waiting for a daydream to take me through the morning and put me in my coffee break where i can have a sandwich and remember and it s me and my machine for the rest of the morning for the rest of the afternoon for the rest of my life now my mind begins to wander to the days back on the farm i can see my father smiling at me swinging on his arm i can hear my grand dad s stories of the storms out on lake erie where vessels and cargos and fortunes and sailor s lives were lost but it s my life has been wasted and i ve been the fool to let this manufacturer use my body for a tool i can ride home in the evening staring at my hands swearing by my sorrow that a young girl ought to stand a better chance  so may i work the mills just as long as i am able and never meet the man whose name is on the label and it s me and my machine for the rest of the morning for the rest of the afternoon for the rest of my life