TURN OF THE WRENCH

Dana Lyons

 

Joe Swenson was a farmer, he grew the Minnesota wheat,

He rode there with his daughter high upon the tractor seat.

They broke down on the hillside, radiator spitting steam,

He went to get the tool box so he could fix the old machine,

 

And with a turn of the wrench, and a twist of the screw,

He could fix the old tractor, he could make it like new.

 

One day they got a letter, said the power lines would come,

Right across the hillside, right across the setting sun.

So they gathered up the family, talked late into the night,

We cannot let them do this, we gotta put up ourselves one hell of a fight.

 

And with a turn of the wrench, and a twist of the screw,

We'll apply a little pressure, and we'll see what that can do.

 

So they phoned a hundred farmers, drove to the twin cities,

Met there with the governor and they sued the utilities.

But after writing all the letters, and paying all the legal costs,

To the power of the city once again the farmers lost.

 

And in the still of the evening the wind is all you hear,

I watch the waves on the wheatfields alone,

I walk the furrows of earth I plant year after year,

This is the land that we call home.

 

So they gathered at the tavern, and there wasn't much to say,

The powerlines may come, but the power lines won't stay.

With bandanas on their faces, careful not to make a sound,

They loosened all the bolts that held the towers to the ground,

And several weeks later, with nobody around,

The Minnesota wind blew tower after tower after tower down.

 

And in the still of the evening the wind is all you hear,

I watch the waves on the wheatfields alone,

I walk the furrows of earth I plant year after year,

This is the land that we call home.