Last Slice Of Heaven

On a perfect bluebird morning working 'till the afternoon He'll take a thermos full of coffee, and a mandolin playing out of tune He wasn't Bill Monroe, he's never sung a note, that wasn't flat On rented land he's grown a bit more food than he can eat So he'll sell the rest on Sunday, can whatever he can keep Tomatoes, corn, and beans, potatoes and winter greens, on an acre and a half But now the land that he's been working is worth more than he could need If selling out's surrender, is leaving like defeat? In a world that's always changing, what it means to be the same He knows spit and polish cleans up, the stuff they'd rather throw away And to make an honest living, where the honest few are found Takes more than prayers and loans, to keep your boots on solid ground On the last slice of heaven in this town Tobacco barn's full up, with a crop of auto parts There's a broken antique thresher, and now the Oldsmobile won't start The County's creeping in, say they oughta go condemn, that old place New neighbors never wave to him as he walks along the road He goes over to the legion, drinks a beer, goes back home, all alone He sits in silence, his life like a reminder, of what's changed 'Cause every field's a row of houses waiting to be built Ain't no such thing as empty space, 'till you need something to fill In a world that always changing, what it means to be the same He knows spit and polish cleans up, the stuff they'd rather throw away And to make an honest living, where the honest few are found Takes more than prayers and loans, to keep your boots on solid ground On the last slice of Heaven in this town