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 weightI 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