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 for 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

For 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 Erie

Where vessels and cargoes and fortunes

And sailors' lives were lost

Yes 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 can ride home in the evening

Staring at my hands

Swearing by my sorrow

That a young girl ought

To stand a better chance

So may I work the mills just

As long as I am able

And never meet the man

Whose name is on the label

It be me and my machine

For the rest of the morning

And the rest of the afternoon

Gone for the rest of my life