Rough Edges

Fred Eaglesmith

capo 1

Cracks in your Gwindshield, holes in your Flife,
And you're trying to get Chome before it gets Dlight.
That old five-ton Gtruck don't run good no Emmore,
Barely gets up those Chills with your foot to the Dfloor.
And your horses are Gtired, your excuses are Emweak,
And you ain't won a Crace since seventy-Dthree.
But all through the Gnight, that trailer just Fsways.
An east wind, you Cknow, always brings Grain.

Out on the freeway, those big wheels just roll,
Out past your time, and through your front door.
Lights on the skyline, signs on the road,
You don't pick up your mail, you don't answer your phone.
And your old friends are dead, or they've all gone away,
Wildflowers cry over their graves.
And the paper they throw at the end of the lane,
An east wind, it says, always brings rain.

Down by the river, where the old boys still ride.
And the edges are rough as suicide.
Where the whisky's got colour, and the cows feed on grass,
The windmills pump water, and your cheques don't go bad.
And your blankets are dirty, your eternity frayed,
And on through the night, that trailer just sways.
So load up those cattle, move out that train,
An east wind, you know, always brings rain.