Good fortune cut cleared out long ago
Left us only here with the curse
Hard luck it moved in a stone's throw away
And then things went from bad to worse
The November wind is at it again
Sharp relief is less than a few crumbs
And the November wind is at it again
It's blowing through the scarecrow you've become
My dear father and those other fathers before
Who bought this land from the Indians
The family well it spread out like an oak tree's branches
Till the banker man took advantage of those years when the fields went bare
Well if it all ends in judgment and it all ends in fire
Why does the rich man get richer and the poor they learn to lie
First to themselves then to everybody else
You're way less than you were but you're still more than they are