Lost in the haystack
Desperate to be found
There's a scratching sound
From the house cat out back
Grasping at straws
To pull the longest one
The farmer gets his gun
To resist the natural law
Breaking the hard earth
In the early morning fog
The field stretches long
And the shovel shows our worth
Dirt on our hands
Each and all just for one
Has no appreciation
For the rising or the setting of the sun