A Month Of Sundays

[Floogeldy]

I used to work for Harvester
I used to use my hands
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 was lendin' money
The banker was the farmer's friend

And I've seen dog days and dusty days
Late spring snow and early fall sleet
I've held the leather reins in my hands
And I've 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 kept the clothes on our backs
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 shadow of 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 'em break out the brass and beat on the drum
One step forward and two steps back

And I saw a sign on Easy Street
It 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 when I'll see my companion again.

Edited for consanguinity.

[Floogeldy]

1. No matter what you think of Eagles . . .

. . .

I can't believe that nobody else here understands the import of this song and how beautiful it is. It addresses corporate fascism, suburbanism, generational change, dedication, naturalism, loneliness, the transition from a production country to a service country, nature, patriotism, the advent of technology, everything.

A Month Of Sundays, by Don Henley, a bonus track on his Building The Perfect Beast release.

Consider.

I used to work for Harvester
I used to use my hands
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 was lendin' money
The banker was the farmer's friend

And I've seen dog days and dusty days
Late spring snow and early fall sleet
I've held the leather reins in my hands
And I've 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 kept the clothes on our backs
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 shadow of 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 'em break out the brass and beat on the drum
One step forward and two steps back

And I saw a sign on Easy Street
It 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 when I'll see my companion again.

[Hissyspit]

2. I first heard it when it was a 45 B-side to "The Boys Of Summer."

I couldn't believe it wasn't on the album.

[Zomby Woof]

3. The Last Resort

I see this Henley composition (which closes "Hotel California" for all those keeping score) as the prequel, or the other side of the coin, of 'Sundays'... it's one of his very best.


She came from Providence, the one in Rhode Island
Where the Old World shadows hang heavy in the air.
She packed her hopes and dreams like a refugee,
Just as her father came across the sea.

She heard about a place people were smilin',
They spoke about the red man's way, how they loved the land.
And they came from everywhere to the Great Divide
Seeking a place to stand or a place to hide.

Down in the crowded bars out for a good time,
Can't wait to tell you all what it's like up there.
And they called it paradise, I don't know why.
Somebody laid the mountains low while the town got high.

Then the chilly winds blew down across the desert,
Through the canyons of the coast to the Malibu
Where the pretty people play, hungry for power
To light their neon way and give them things to do.

Some rich man came and raped the land, nobody caught 'em,
Put up a bunch of ugly boxes and, Jesus, people bought 'em.
And they called it paradise, the place to be,
They watched the hazy sun sinking in the sea.

You can leave it all behind and sail to Lahaina
Just like the missionaries did so many years ago.
They even brought a neon sign 'Jesus is Coming',
Brought the white man's burden down, brought the white man's reign.

Who will provide the grand design, what is yours and what is mine?
'Cause there is no more new frontier, we have got to make it here.
We satisfy our endless needs and justify our bloody deeds
In the name of destiny and in the name of God.

And you can see them there on Sunday morning
Stand up and sing about what it's like up there.
They called it paradise, I don't know why.
You call some place paradise - kiss it goodbye.

[Floogeldy]

4. Good call, ZombyWoof.

;)

[Bossy Monkey]

6. All anybody needs to say or know about America

is that Hotel California was a hit and this wasn't. As with Dylan and "Hurricane," Don earned a free pass to sing and write whatever popped into his head for some decades with this song.

[Bossy Monkey]

5. He did it at Farm Aid

I'm reasonably sure it was the first one.

"Folks these days just don't do nothing/ simply for the love of it"

You said it, Don.