| We shared a room till I was 6
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| I’d look across my pillow
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| Ask her if she was sleeping
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| Try to keep her from her sleep
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| We had a picture on the wall of a baby angel in a golden crown
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| When the world came tumbling down on me and Marie
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| God knows we couldn’t be more different
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| The two of us cut from the same cloth
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| Where one end must be velvet soft
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| The other denim and gabardine
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| We were Sunday morning church
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| Assigned seats at the dinner table
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| Four older brothers raising a little bit of hell, then me and Marie
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| She looks more like our mother
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| She’s prettier and softer
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| And she always helps me find my way
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| I’ve been lost a time or two
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| She knows bigger words than I do
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| But we both got the same size shoes
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| And no one’s ever walked in mine but me and Marie
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| Marie turned 13, two weeks after daddy sat us down said your mama’s died
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| And it took me years to realize she wasn’t out getting groceries
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| I was waiting on a resurrection
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| Saved by my disposition
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| Our grandfather crying in the kitchen
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| Couldn’t bear the sight of me and Marie
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| She looks more like our mother
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| She’s prettier and softer
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| And she always helps me find my way
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| I’ve been lost a time or two
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| She knows bigger words than I do
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| But we both got the same size shoes
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| And no one’s ever walked in mine but me and Marie
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| Well, our big brothers are a Godsend
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| We grew up and married good men
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| God blessed us all with children
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| We’re a pretty tight family
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| The baby angel’s framed in my writing room
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| And I stare at him some afternoons
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| He must’ve known he had a job to do watching over me and Marie |