It’s been over a year since you left town.
The children have stopped asking about you.
Oh Jimmy, what have you done to me now?
You took the beauty from our hillside view.

The children have stopped asking about you.
Slowly, you’ve begun to die in their eyes,
taking the beauty from our hillside view.
Daddy—now just an epithet of lies.

Slowly, you’ve begun to die in their eyes.
Each morning they rise, set to work in fields.
Daddy—now just an epithet of lies,
the hero, who swore to prosper our mills.

Each morning they rise, set to work in fields,
serenaded by wrens, their song grown dull.
The hero, who swore to prosper our mills,
your chair is empty as the deer-mauled hulls.

Serenaded by wrens, their song grown dull,
we work the angry earth, crippling our backs.
Your chair is empty as the deer-mauled hulls;
we salvage what we can and scheme our tack.

We work the angry earth, crippling our backs.
Oh Jimmy, what have you done to me now?
I’ve salvaged what I can, changing my tack,
because it’s been a year since you left town.