Millworker

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

Put me in my coffee break where I can have a sandwich and remember

And then it's me and my machine for the rest of the morning

For the rest of the afternoon, oh, for the rest of my life

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 granddad's stories

About the storms out on Lake Erie

Where the vessels and cargos

And fortunes and sailors' lives were lost

But it's my life's been wasted, and I have 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

May I work the mills

Just as long as I am able

And never meet the man

Whose name is on the label

It'd be me and my machine for the rest of the morning

For the rest of the afternoon, oh, for the rest of my life