| She was born at the rest stop on the Kansas state line
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| In the back of a Dodge in the summer time
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| Her momma named her Indiana like thier license plate
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| And with the hum of the tires on the interstate
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| She was cryin'
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| They left her at a Denny’s up in Colorado
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| In a blanket with her name written on a note
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| That said, «Forgive us Lord for not takin' her
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| But this child has a better chance of makin' it
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| In someone else’s arms»
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| And it’s a crazy thing
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| Fate has perfect wings
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| All the way down the line
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| Angels working overtime
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| She was raised in a place called Cheyenne Wells
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| But she never fit in and everyone could tell
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| That she didn’t belong in some prairie town
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| And when she turned eighteen she bought a ticket out
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| On a Greyhound
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| They stopped a few minutes out of Santa Fe
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| She got out for a smoke and they drove away
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| She hitched a ride with a boy right out of school
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| He said «I'm headed out west»
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| And she said «Me too»
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| If that’s all right
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| And it’s a crazy thing
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| Fate has perfect wings
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| All the way down the line
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| Angels working overtime
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| It took a couple hundred miles 'till they fell in love
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| And if it ever was the only thing good enough
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| And in a moment of passion in a motel room
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| They held on tight and their aim was true
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| Now they’re countin' down the days
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| And dreamin' all night in an apartment in L. A
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| And it’s a crazy thing
|
| Fate has perfect wings
|
| All the way down the line
|
| Angels working overtime
|
| And it’s a crazy thing
|
| Fate has perfect wings
|
| All the way down the line
|
| Angels working overtime
|
| She was born at a rest stop on the Kansas state line
|
| Angels workin' overtime
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| She was cryin
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| She was cryin
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| She was cryin |