| Oh, Ellis Island was swarming
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| Like a scene from a costume ball
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| Decked out in the colors of Europe
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| And on fire with the hope of it all
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| There my father’s own father stood huddled
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| With the tired and hungry and scared
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| Turn-of-the-century pilgrims
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| Bound by the dream that they shared
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| They were standing in lines just like cattle
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| Poked and sorted and shoved
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| Some were one desk away from sweet freedom
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| Some were were torn from someone they love
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| Through this sprawling Tower of Babel
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| Came a young man confused and alone
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| Determined and bound for America
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| Carrying everything that he owned
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| Sometimes when I look in my grandfather’s immigrant eyes
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| I see that day reflected and I can’t hold my feelings inside
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| I see starting with nothing and working hard all of his life
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| «So don’t take it for granted,» say grandfather’s immigrant eyes
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| Now he rocks and stares out the window
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| But his eyes are still just as clear
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| As the day he sailed through the harbor
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| And come ashore on the island of tears
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| My grandfather’s days are numbered
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| But I won’t let his memory die
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| Because he gave me the gift of this country
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| And the look in his immigrant eyes
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| Sometimes when I look in my grandfather’s immigrant eyes
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| I see that day reflected and I can’t hold my feelings inside
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| I see starting with nothing and working hard all of his life
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| «So don’t take it for granted,» say grandfather’s immigrant eyes
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| «No don’t take it for granted,» say grandfather’s immigrant eyes |