Last Slice of Heaven

On a perfect bluebird morning working 'till the afternoon

He'll take a thermos full of coffee, and a mandolin playing out of tune

He wasn't Bill Monroe, he's never sung a note, that wasn't flat

On rented land he's grown a bit more food than he can eat

So he'll sell the rest on Sunday, can whatever he can keep

Tomatoes, corn, and beans, potatoes and winter greens, on an acre and a half

But now the land that he's been working is worth more than he could need

If selling out's surrender, is leaving like defeat?

In a world that's always changing, what it means to be the same

He knows spit and polish cleans up, the stuff they'd rather throw away

And to make an honest living, where the honest few are found

Takes more than prayers and loans, to keep your boots on solid ground

On the last slice of heaven in this town

Tobacco barn's full up, with a crop of auto parts

There's a broken antique thresher, and now the Oldsmobile won't start

The County's creeping in, say they oughta go condemn, that old place

New neighbors never wave to him as he walks along the road

He goes over to the legion, drinks a beer, goes back home, all alone

He sits in silence, his life like a reminder, of what's changed

'Cause every field's a row of houses waiting to be built

Ain't no such thing as empty space, 'till you need something to fill

In a world that always changing, what it means to be the same

He knows spit and polish cleans up, the stuff they'd rather throw away

And to make an honest living, where the honest few are found

Takes more than prayers and loans, to keep your boots on solid ground

On the last slice of Heaven in this town