Look at the hand that made the steel That raised the kids, that shouldered the wheel And taught a man how not to feel | At six o?clock in the morning
We walked all night in the pouring rain Made the coast by morning Found an old abandoned carnival by the sea There were no seats on the ferris wheel
I can feel it when the wind blows Stealing leaves out of their trees It?s a moment full of mystery Summer?s last breath before the freeze But the change
Take the skeleton from the closet Shake the dust off of his bones Tonight we?ll have confession Of all that we?ve done wrong Let?s hear every crime you
Dad never started drinking ?til he was thirty-five And once he found the power He made up for his lost time Go outside and catch a cricket, then unplug
I walked into the lounge of the Windsor Arms Hotel Where a band was playing Fifties songs The ones we know so well And they played just like the record
Sally took a ride with my kid brother Made her sister swear that she wouldn?t tell her mother Drove to the desert, got a room with a pool outside And
It?s been rainy and windy for seven days straight I?ve been going to bed early and getting up late I look out my window and it?s one shade of gray My
I grew up on the Indiana side of Chicago With the rusty steel mills belching in the westward wind I watched Mom and Dad trying to clean their sorrow
He left Boston in December for New Mexico Determined to forget all of the faces he?d known A little lonesome and a world of troubled mind With a bed
He was not my father?s brother But he wished that he could be Told us kids to call him uncle And we would be his family He had a wife and kids in Fresno
