What does the man, by the work of his hand, gain from hours upon the land? The seeds are sown, rains fall and winds blow, but no wheat will rise from sand. It used to be fun trying to get the job done- I was eager to plant what I'd found. But then up came the weeds to swallow my seeds, leaving nothing but thorny ground. The sun used to rise to the top of the sky but I was up before it started to climb. And late into the night when there was no longer light, I would battle the passing of time. The fruit of my task was just beyond my grasp but I fell further and further behind. When I came to my end I had lost all my friends- chasing fortune made me cold and unkind. All that has happened is destined to happen again- my vanity is a circle, no beginning or end. I sold all my horses and auctioned my plow- no longer reason for sticking around. Nobody said it would be easy but I never dreamt it would be so hard. I've moved to the city and paved my back yard. But all that has happened is destined to happen again... my vanity is a circle.