Millworker

Now 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 Millwork ain't easy Millwork ain't hard Millwork it ain't nothing but an awful boring job I'm waiting on a daydream to take me through the morning And put me in my coffee break where I can have a sandwich And remember Then it's me and my machine for the rest of the morning And the rest of the afternoon And 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 hear my granddad's stories of the storms out on Lake Eerie Where vessels and cargos and fortunes and sailors' lives were lost Yeah, but it's my life has been wasted And I have been the fool to let this manufacturer use my body for a tool I'll 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 It's still me and my machine for the rest of the morning And the rest of the afternoon, solid gone For the rest of my life