| You were born in KC Missouri
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| to a girl who wasn’t married
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| after your birth she brought you to the nursery
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| kissed your head and told you not to worry
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| and then quietly she turned and slipped away
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| in the elevator her heart began to pound
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| to the roof top in her slippers and her gown
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| on the edge she took one last look around
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| then closed her eyes and pushed away
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| speeding toward the ground
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| through the air without a sound
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| so gracefully
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| twelve flights down nearly naked on the ground
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| skin and tragedy always attract a crowd
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| and so it was when the policeman came around
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| he took more than fifty eyewitness accounts
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| each one in awe
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| for they’d never seen a girl
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| so sad and beautiful |