Slim pickings this harvest,
so I listen for a messenger from the West
To tell me that somebody has got something for me to peruse
Slim picking this harvest,
so I wait for something more honest
When you tell me you want to see me, I don't think there's a way I can lose
Pretty Jars reflect my stars
better than the windshields of flying cars
Pretty Jars shine like stars
brighter than the headlights of flying cars
So I won't farm these dusty fields no more
and I might even turn down a few free bushels just left on my door
but I promise that I won't starve while I wait for preserves in pretty jars
So I won't farm, I'll do my best to keep my hands out the dirt
and I'll occupy myself with a new definition of work
And even if I never eat the food within, I will turn down dirt to look at pretty jars
Pretty Jars reflect my stars
better than the windshields of flying cars
Pretty Jars shine like stars
brighter than the headlights of flying cars