From the recording Blackberry Time

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Down in the Crawlspace

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Working in the crawlspace eating dirt,
dragging forty feet of hose
Spraying poison in the ground,
Dust and cobwebs all around
Filling up my nose
Gary hollers in to me the boss is on the phone
I pretend that I can't hear so they leave me alone

Eight hours a day they own my hands
My legs, my back at their command
They rule my body and my time
But down in the crawlspace
Down in the crawlspace it's all mine

All alone in darkness, taking back
a little time they took
Just an hour, maybe two
Where no one tells me what to do
And I can think about my book
But there's so much I've forgotten
I've got to figure out again
Like how to get an agent
and how my novel's going to end

Missouri sounds like œmisery
for a reason, one supposes
Waiting on the days of corn
and overtime and roses

Gary calls me out to give a hand
with all the piles in the garage
Broken toys and broken chairs,
Bags and boxes everywhere
There's hardly room to budge
Gary shakes his head,
œWhy not just throw it all away?
Why hang on to all of this?
How can people live this way?