Fruit of My Labor

I crossed the line through the Mexican border – no law and no order did I find – I dreamt all night as we rolled asunder- black clouds of thunder through the sky – the fruit that I pick will turn to gold in my pocket – my heavenly crown put upon my head – my children will play beside a ripened orchard – the good lord above will do what he said- but you know what’s in store for an old migrant man – the fruit of my labor never ends up in my hands – and that coyote dropped me here and now I’m waiting on the corner – with just an old wooden cross in my right hand – how’s your family back in Mexico, I have a son and a daughter – gonna send them home some money just as soon as I can – but you know what’s in store for an old migrant man – the fruit of my labor never ends up in my hand – I dreamt that I died while the fruit had all ripened – that Florida sunshine on their skin – and I stood at the gate and I begged St. Peter to let me – go back and join in the harvesting – cause you know what’s in store for an old migrant man – the fruit of my labor never ends up in my hand