A man without a job is a stranger to the seasons   The April rain will soak you like the worst November brings   And we're tired of the excuses and the carefully worded reasons   Without Winter there's no Summer   Without Autumn there's no Spring.      When the factories close down the life bleeds from the town.   Some politicians tells us, 'move and build another home',   But weren't they voted in to lead us?   No one said they had to feed us.   If they'd get us back our jobs   Then we would take care of our own.      Chorus   For a man without a job   Is a stranger to the seasons   No music to the cycle of the changes will he hear.   Like a band without a drummer   There's no Winter, Spring, or Summer   There's no rhythm to the passing of the    Months that make the year.      Everyone is poorer for the millions   Who keep growing   Whose season stays at Autumn   And whose only colour's grey   Though we get by on the dole   It feeds the body, starves the soul   And stirs the bitterness that's growing   In the ones who've been betrayed.      Chorus