I don’t know where I am / And I don’t know where I’m going / I reckon it don’t matter anyway / What factories are left here are mainly hiring Mexicans / I reckon that they’ll work without much pay. Years ago, it had been the site of a filling station. Then it was …
Nightrider's Lament
"Why do they [write] for their money? Why do they [work] for short pay? They ain't getting nowhere and they're losing their share. They must have gone crazy back there." — Michael Burton (paraphrased)
