Tytuł: Millworker

• Wykonawca: Bette Midler
• Wyświetleń: 429

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 died from too much whiskey
  and leaves me these three faces to feed.
  
  Millwork ain't easy, millwork ain't hard.
  Millwork, it ain't nothin'
  but an awful, boring job.
  I'm waiting for a daydream
  to take me through the mornin';
  Put me in my coffee break
  where I can have a sandwhich and remember.
  
  And it's me and my machine
  for the rest of the mornin',
  for the rest of the afternoon,
  for the rest of my life.
  
  Now my mind begins to wander
  to the days back on the farm.
  I can see my father smilin'
  and me swingin' on his arm.
  
  I can hear my granddad's stories
  of the storms out on Lake Erie,
  where vessels and cargos
  and fortunes and sailor's lives were lost.
  
  Yeah, but it's my life that's been wasted.
  And I have been the fool
  to let this manufacture
  use my body for a tool.
  As I ride home in the evenin'
  I'm staring at my hands,
  swearin' by my sorrow
  that a young girl ought to stand a better chance.
  
  Oh, but may I work the mills
  just as long as I'm able,
  and never meet the man
  who's name is on the label.
  
  Whoa, it's me and my machine
  for the rest of the mornin',
  for the rest of the afternoon,
  for the rest of my life . . . wasted.