---

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 its 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 grandad's stories
of the storms out on Lake Erie
where vessels and cargos and fortunes
and sailors' lives were lost

(Yes, but its)My life has been wasted
and I have been the fool
to let this manufacturer
use my body for a tool
I ride home in the evening
staring at my hand
swearing by my sorrows
that a young girl ought to
stand a better chance

So 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, solid gone
and the rest of my life

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