The Plough

I packed up my suitcase and left the old farm

I promised my papa I'd come to no harm

And I went to the city where I was employed

In a firm of accountants as an office boy.

I fetched and I carried, I watched and I learned

And slowly but surely I rose through the firm.

But then I discovered my colleagues one day

Massaging the figures for personal gain

I said "I'll not wallow in this house of shame"

I'll plough my own furrow, I'll go my own way.

Gravely I listened to Reverend McBride

Down at the mission house each Friday night.

Heavenís salvation for those who know best,

Hell and damnation for all of the rest.

Try as I might I could not understand

Why The Almighty's all-merciful hand

Should cast away those whose only mistake

Was never to know the Christian faith

The stars that we follow can lead us astray

I'll plough my own furrow, I'll go my own way

I fled from the capitalís bourgeois malaise

And trekked through the wilderness for fourteen days

'Til I found the guerillas camped high in the hills

I asked Comrade Diaz whom I should kill.

I crept into town with a knife in my teeth

And entered the home of the Chief of Police

I stood at his bedside and raised up my blade

But then I looked to the crib where his little one lay

You murder tomorrow by killing today

I'll plough my own furrow, I'll go my own way.