I guess you had your reasons 

For the way you used to be 

Don’t why I couldn’t please you 

You just never had much faith in me 

There’s fine dust in the tire ruts now 

Along the old feed road 

They’re workin’ on a six year drought 

Just so you know 



I can pull my weightI can hold my own 

I can sling that blade all summer long 

‘Til the thistles fall And the pasture’s clear 

And the work’s all done for another year 

I can hold my own 



The world was like a distant storm 

I could feel it on the breeze 

But it made so little difference here 

Just a whisper in the trees 

Mending fence for room and board 

Was mostly all I’d done 

For I was still a prisoner here 

In 1961 



The sucker rod on the windmill creaks 

Now and then you hear a car 

There’s thunderheads across the southern sky 

But they won’t get this far 

There’s red ants by the graveyard gate 

They’re nearly all that moves 

And they carry on despite this heat 

I bet you’d tell me what that proves 

There’s fine dust in the tire ruts now 

The creeks no longer run 

But I am just a visitor here 

The drought won’t hurt me none