six-year drought

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 weight

i 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