A man without a job is a stranger to the seasons

The April rain will soak you like the worst November brings

And we're tired of the excuses and the carefully worded reasons

Without Winter there's no Summer

Without Autumn there's no Spring.



When the factories close down the life bleeds from the town.

Some politicians tells us, 'move and build another home',

But weren't they voted in to lead us?

No one said they had to feed us.

If they'd get us back our jobs

Then we would take care of our own.



Chorus

For a man without a job

Is a stranger to the seasons

No music to the cycle of the changes will he hear.

Like a band without a drummer

There's no Winter, Spring, or Summer

There's no rhythm to the passing of the 

Months that make the year.



Everyone is poorer for the millions

Who keep growing

Whose season stays at Autumn

And whose only colour's grey

Though we get by on the dole

It feeds the body, starves the soul

And stirs the bitterness that's growing

In the ones who've been betrayed.



Chorus