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 can 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 every evening

Staring at my hands

Swearing to my sorrow that a young girl

Ought to stand a better chance

So may I work your 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 (and on and on and on...)

for the rest of my life