From the recording Seneca Guns
Lyrics
I cling to levees, pumps and dunes--
A plot of slag.
My whole backyard’s an alien moon,
With a foreign flag.
But I’m keeping track of my attempts.
I dug for ages in this field,
Spun my wheels in earnest.
I scanned the gauges for some yield
In this oppressive furnace.
I painted beiges on my shield
And kept my weapons burnished.
Don’t know what I was trying to prove.
This land is your land; my claim’s void.
I lost my say.
I cannot keep the health employed
Or you at bay.
But you’re not the monster that I’ve dreamt.
I dug for ages in this field,
Spun my wheels in earnest.
I scanned the gauges for some yield
That all my labor furnished.
I painted beiges on my shield
And kept my weapons burnished.
Don’t know what I was trying to see.
I wouldn’t let myself be sated
Until I’d savaged all the land.
The yoke I toiled under forbade it--
Too many acres for one hand.
The dirt lay fallow as I wept
And took on freight.
The landscape shifted as I stepped.
That’s real estate.
I’m keeping everything unkempt.