I guess you had your reasons
For the way you used to be
Dont why I couldnt please you
You just never had much faith in me
Theres fine dust in the tire ruts now
Along the old feed road
Theyre 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 pastures clear
And the works 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 Id done
For I was still a prisoner here
In 1961
The sucker rod on the windmill creaks
Now and then you hear a car
Theres thunderheads across the southern sky
But they wont get this far
Theres red ants by the graveyard gate
Theyre nearly all that moves
And they carry on despite this heat
I bet youd tell me what that proves
Theres fine dust in the tire ruts now
The creeks no longer run
But I am just a visitor here
The drought wont hurt me none