Leaning Left

My granddad left his tools out in the shed Hammer, saw, and wrench, all rusted red But there's this old plow, sittin' off alone Handle worn smooth, blade dull as stone He never used it much, far as I recall Just kept it leanin' up against the wall. Thing about that plow, it don't track straight Always pulls a little left, seals its own fate Try to cut a furrow, clean and true and deep It wanders off the line secrets to keep Makes you fight the handles, strain your back and soul Just to keep that crooked iron in control. Now, I work this ground, same fields he turned Got his stubborn pride, lessons hard-learned But some days breakin' soil, I feel that pull Like somethin' in the land ain't quite full Or somethin' buried deep wants steerin' wrong Like the echo of a sad, unfinished song. Ain't the plow's fault, it was forged that way And it ain't my fault I woke up here today But the furrow left behind, it tells a tale Wobblin' 'cross the land beyond the pale And you gotta wonder 'bout the hands that held it first And the kind of thirst that ground once nursed. Yeah, that crooked plow... leanin' on the wall... Casts a crooked shadow... standin' dark and tall marv.