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Slim pickings this harvest, so I listen for a messenger from the WestTo tell me that somebody has got something for me to peruseSlim picking this harvest, so I wait for something more honestWhen you tell me you want to see me, I don't think there's a way I can losePretty Jars reflect my stars better than the windshields of flying carsPretty Jars shine like starsbrighter than the headlights of flying carsSo I won't farm these dusty fields no more and I might even turn down a few free bushels just left on my doorbut I promise that I won't starve while I wait for preserves in pretty jarsSo I won't farm, I'll do my best to keep my hands out the dirtand I'll occupy myself with a new definition of workAnd even if I never eat the food within, I will turn down dirt to look at pretty jarsPretty Jars reflect my stars better than the windshields of flying carsPretty Jars shine like starsbrighter than the headlights of flying cars From Letras Mania