| A hundred year old photograph
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| Stares out from a frame
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| And if you look real close you’ll see
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| Our eyes are just the same
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| I never met them face to face
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| But I still know them well
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| From the stories
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| My dear grandma would tell
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| Elijah was a farmer
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| He knew how to make things grow
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| Fannie vowed she’d follow him
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| Wherever he would go
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| As things turned out they never left
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| Their small Kentucky farm
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| But he kept her fed
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| She kept him warm
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| They’re my guardian angels
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| And I know they can see
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| Ev’ry step I take
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| They are watching over me
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| I might not know where I’m goin'
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| But I’m sure where I come from
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| They’re my guardian angels
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| And I’m their special one
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| Sometimes when I’m tired
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| I feel Elijah take my arm
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| He says, «Keep a-goin', hard work
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| Never did a body harm.»
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| And when I’m really troubled
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| And I don’t know what to do
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| Fannie whispers, «Just do your best, We’re awful proud of you!»
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| A hundred year old photograph
|
| Stares out from a frame
|
| And if you look real close you’ll see
|
| Our eyes are just the same |