| One weekend Ray was a bit at loose ends
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| Getting underfoot in Ella’s kitchen again
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| She shooed him out, said 'It's such a nice day
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| Perhaps there’s some yardwork you might do today'
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| So he drove where they sold statuettes by the pound
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| Saying 'If you want real art, go to Waynetown'
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| He bought a smart cement rabbit standing on hind legs
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| In a waiter’s waistcoat and flourishing a tray
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| And every morning she’d find
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| On that small rabbit tray
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| Secured with a stone
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| So it would not blow away
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| A note that said 'To my sweetheart'
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| Or 'Happy birthday'
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| 'Here's lookin at you kid'
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| 'Forever, Ray'
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| Forevr, Ray
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| Pleased with his plan, his idea grw wings
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| Every weekend he’d add another marvelous thing
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| A sweet life sized angel, a Madonna and dog
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| Andy Griffith and Jesus, Big Foot and groundhog
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| And every morning she’d find
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| On that small rabbit tray
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| Secured with a stone
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| So it would not blow away
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| A note that said 'To my sweetheart'
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| Or 'Happy birthday'
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| 'Here's lookin at you kid'
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| 'Forever, Ray'
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| Forever, Ray
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| Like autumn to winter, age shuffles in
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| So they hired a boy to rake and to trim
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| Every statue a touchstone, a memory to recall
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| In the center the rabbit that started it all
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| Like a watch that’s been turned too often and long
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| Ella and Ray began to wind down
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| The springs and small gears had not lost their shine
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| But simply could no longer hold on to time
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| And every morning she places
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| A note on the tray
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| But without any stone
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| Letting it blow away
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| Down the street, on the air
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| To land where they may
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| Saying, 'I'll be your sweetheart'
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| 'Forever, Ray'
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| Forever, Ray |