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 Eerie
 Where vessels and cargos 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
 Oh, 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