A Month Of Sundays Lyrics

Song	A Month Of Sundays
Artist	Don Henley
Album	Building The Perfect Beast
Download	Image LRC TXT

	Lyrics：Don Henley Music：Don Henley
	I used to work for Harvester
	I used to use my hand
	I used to make the tractors and the combines that plowed and harvested this great land
	Now I see my handiwork on the block everywhere I turn
	And I see the clouds 'cross the weathered faces and I watch the harvest burn
	I quit the plant in '57
	Had some time for farmin' then
	Banks back then were lending money
	The banker was the farmer's friend
	And I've seen the dog days and dusty days
	Late spring snow and early fall sleet;
	I've held the leather reins in my hands and felt the soft ground under my feet
	Between the hot, dry weather and the taxes, and the Cold War it's been hard to make ends meet
	But I always put the shoes on our feet
	My grandson, he comes home from college
	He says, 'We get the government we deserve'
	My son-in-law just shakes his head and says, 'That little punk, he never had to serve'
	And I sit here in the suburbs and look out across these empty fields
	I sit here in earshot of the bypass and all night I listen to the rushin' of the wheels
	The big boys, they all got computers; got incorporated, too
	Me, I just know how to raise things
	That was all I ever knew
	Now, it all comes down to numbers
	Now, I'm glad that I have quit
	Folks these days just don't do nothin'
	Simply for the love of it
	I went into town on the Fourth of July
	Watched 'em parade past the Union Jack
	Watched 'um break out the brass and beat on the drum
	One step forward and two steps back
	And I saw a sign on Easy Street, said 'Be Prepared to Stop'
	Pray for the independent, little man
	I don't see next year's crop
	And I sit here on the back porch in the twilight
	And I hear the crickets hum
	I sit and watch the lightning in the distance but the showers never come
	I sit here and listen to the wind blow
	I sit here and rub my hands
	I sit here and listen to the clock strike, and I wonder if I'll see my companion again

	Lyrics: Don Henley Music: Don Henley
	I used to work for Harvester
	I used to use my hand
	I used to make the tractors and the combines that plowed and harvested this great land
	Now I see my handiwork on the block everywhere I turn
	And I see the clouds ' cross the weathered faces and I watch the harvest burn
	I quit the plant in ' 57
	Had some time for farmin' then
	Banks back then were lending money
	The banker was the farmer' s friend
	And I' ve seen the dog days and dusty days
	Late spring snow and early fall sleet
	I' ve held the leather reins in my hands and felt the soft ground under my feet
	Between the hot, dry weather and the taxes, and the Cold War it' s been hard to make ends meet
	But I always put the shoes on our feet
	My grandson, he comes home from college
	He says, ' We get the government we deserve'
	My soninlaw just shakes his head and says, ' That little punk, he never had to serve'
	And I sit here in the suburbs and look out across these empty fields
	I sit here in earshot of the bypass and all night I listen to the rushin' of the wheels
	The big boys, they all got computers got incorporated, too
	Me, I just know how to raise things
	That was all I ever knew
	Now, it all comes down to numbers
	Now, I' m glad that I have quit
	Folks these days just don' t do nothin'
	Simply for the love of it
	I went into town on the Fourth of July
	Watched ' em parade past the Union Jack
	Watched ' um break out the brass and beat on the drum
	One step forward and two steps back
	And I saw a sign on Easy Street, said ' Be Prepared to Stop'
	Pray for the independent, little man
	I don' t see next year' s crop
	And I sit here on the back porch in the twilight
	And I hear the crickets hum
	I sit and watch the lightning in the distance but the showers never come
	I sit here and listen to the wind blow
	I sit here and rub my hands
	I sit here and listen to the clock strike, and I wonder if I' ll see my companion again

	Lyrics: Don Henley Music: Don Henley
	I used to work for Harvester
	I used to use my hand
	I used to make the tractors and the combines that plowed and harvested this great land
	Now I see my handiwork on the block everywhere I turn
	And I see the clouds ' cross the weathered faces and I watch the harvest burn
	I quit the plant in ' 57
	Had some time for farmin' then
	Banks back then were lending money
	The banker was the farmer' s friend
	And I' ve seen the dog days and dusty days
	Late spring snow and early fall sleet
	I' ve held the leather reins in my hands and felt the soft ground under my feet
	Between the hot, dry weather and the taxes, and the Cold War it' s been hard to make ends meet
	But I always put the shoes on our feet
	My grandson, he comes home from college
	He says, ' We get the government we deserve'
	My soninlaw just shakes his head and says, ' That little punk, he never had to serve'
	And I sit here in the suburbs and look out across these empty fields
	I sit here in earshot of the bypass and all night I listen to the rushin' of the wheels
	The big boys, they all got computers got incorporated, too
	Me, I just know how to raise things
	That was all I ever knew
	Now, it all comes down to numbers
	Now, I' m glad that I have quit
	Folks these days just don' t do nothin'
	Simply for the love of it
	I went into town on the Fourth of July
	Watched ' em parade past the Union Jack
	Watched ' um break out the brass and beat on the drum
	One step forward and two steps back
	And I saw a sign on Easy Street, said ' Be Prepared to Stop'
	Pray for the independent, little man
	I don' t see next year' s crop
	And I sit here on the back porch in the twilight
	And I hear the crickets hum
	I sit and watch the lightning in the distance but the showers never come
	I sit here and listen to the wind blow
	I sit here and rub my hands
	I sit here and listen to the clock strike, and I wonder if I' ll see my companion again

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