| It was on an Indiana farm in the middle of the country
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| Growin' in the fields of grain, Jim Dean of Indiana
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| His mother died when he was a boy, his father was a stranger
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| Marcus Winslow took him in, nobody seemed to want him
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| The hired man sang like a storm (?), sometimes he’d beat him
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| 'Cause he would never do the chores, he was lost in dreaming
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| He never seemed to find a play with the flatlands and the farmers
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| So he had to leave one day, he said to be an actor
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| Once he’d come back to the farm with starlets from the stages
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| They locked themselves inside his room, the people turned their faces
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| A neighbor ran from the movie house, chickens they were scattered
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| He swore he saw upon the screen, Jim Dean of Indiana
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| He played a boy without a home, torn with no tomorrow
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| Reaching out to touch someone, a stranger in the shadow
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| The Winslows left for the movie town, they drove across the country
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| They hoped that he would stay around and they hoped he would be friendly
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| He talked to them for half an hour but he was busy racing
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| He left for the Grapevine Road, they left for Indiana
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| Then Marcus heard on the radio that a movie star was dying
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| He turned the tuner way down low, so Ortense could go on sleeping
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| It was not until they reached the farm where the hired man was waiting |