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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=63877" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Month Of Sundays</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I used to work for harvester<br>I used to use my hands<br>I used to make the tractors and the<br>Combines that plowed and harvested this<br>Great land<br>Now I see my handiwork on the block<br>Everywhere I turn<br>And I see the clouds cross the weathered<br>Faces and I watch the harvest burn<br>I quit the plant in 57<br>Had some time for farmin then<br>Banks back then was lendin money<br>The banker was the farmers friend<br>And Ive seen dog days and dusty days;<br>Late spring snow and early fall sleet;<br>Ive held the leather reins in my hands<br>And Ive felt the soft ground under my feet<br>Between the hot, dry weather and the taxes<br>And the cold war its been hard to make<br>Ends meet<br>But I always kept the clothes on out backs;<br>I always put the shoes on our feet<br>My grandson, he comes home from college<br>He says, we get the government we<br>Deserve.<br>My son-in-law just shakes his head and says,<br>That little punk, he never had to serve.<br>And I sit here in the shadow of the suburbs<br>And look out across these empty fields<br>I sit here in earshot of the bypass and all<br>Night I listen to the rushin of the wheels<br>The big boys, they all got computers:<br>Got incorporated, too<br>Me, I just know how to raise things<br>That was all I ever knew<br>Now, it all comes down to numbers<br>Now Im glad that I have quit<br>Folks these days just dont do nothin<br>Simply for the love of it<br>I went into town of the fourth of july<br>Watched em parade past the union jack<br>Watched em break out the brass and beat<br>On the drum<br>One step forward and two steps back<br>And I saw a sign on easy street,<br>Said be prepared to stop.<br>Pray for the independent , little man<br>I dont see next years crop<br>And I sit here on the back porch in the<br>Twilight<br>And I hear the crickets hum<br>I sit and watch the lightning in the distance<br>But the showers never come<br>I sit here and listen to the wind blow<br>I sit here and rub my hands<br>I it here and listen to the clock strike,<br>And I wonder when Ill see my<br>Companion again</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />song performed by by Don Henley - <i><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/" target=_blank></a></i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=63877" data-title="A Month Of Sundays" data-description="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 w..."></div>
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