Millwork

Grandad was a sailor He blew in of the water My father was a farmer And I his only daughter I took up with a no good mill workin' man from Massachusetts Who died from too much whiskey And leaves me these three faces to feed Millwork ain't easy Millwork ain't hard Millwork most often is a goddamn awful boring job And I'm waitin' for a day dream To take me throught the morning And put me in my coffee break Where I can have my sandwich and remember And it's me and my machine For the rest of the morning For the rest of the afternoon And the rest of my life My mind begins to wander to the days back on the farm And I can see my father smiling at me swinging on his arm And I can hear my Grandads stories of the storms out on Lake Eerie Vessels and cargos, fortunes and sailor's lives were lost It's my life that's been wasted And I have been a fool To let this manufacturer use my body for a tool Well, I get to ride home in the evening Staring at my hands Swearing by my sorrow That a young girl ought to stand a better chance And may I work this mill 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 And the rest of my life