Letra de 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 died from too much whiskey
and leaves me these three faces to feed.

Millwork ain´t easy, millwork ain´t hard.
Millwork, it ain´t nothin´
but an awful, boring job.
I´m waiting for a daydream
to take me through the mornin´;
Put me in my coffee break
where I can have a sandwhich and remember.

And it´s me and my machine
for the rest of the mornin´,
for the rest of the afternoon,
for the rest of my life.

Now my mind begins to wander
to the days back on the farm.
I can see my father smilin´
and me swingin´ on his arm.

I can hear my granddad´s stories
of the storms out on Lake Erie,
where vessels and cargos
and fortunes and sailor´s lives were lost.

Yeah, but it´s my life that´s been wasted.
And I have been the fool
to let this manufacture
use my body for a tool.
As I ride home in the evenin´
I´m staring at my hands,
swearin´ by my sorrow
that a young girl ought to stand a better chance.

Oh, but may I work the mills
just as long as I´m able,
and never meet the man
who´s name is on the label.

Whoa, it´s me and my machine
for the rest of the mornin´,
for the rest of the afternoon,
for the rest of my life . . . wasted.