Thumbs in the pockets
Of torn blue jeans and muddy boots
up with the sun and down with the moon

Sweat on the brow
Calloused hands
the heart beats of a sturdy man

A job forgotten made this land
Tall oak trees and gravel roads
turned the fields and plowed the snow
what land is left here to grow

Upon the roads a fast car
Shadows casts by planes above
rather than what wilting leaves remain
planting bricks and neon lights
the farmer lays his head to rest
while cast across the sky a dozen satellites