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the family's been here for |
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the last hundred years |
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and it's all that he's ever known |
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life in the cotton fields |
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swamps and the rolling hills |
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always called Arkansas home |
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but when the war came |
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like his father before |
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he joined the army |
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and went to the war |
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leaving the rolling hills |
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swamps and the cotton fields |
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bound for a Normandy shore |
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the patch that he wore on |
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his uniform |
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was both blue and grey |
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the colors of men who died |
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fighting another fight |
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and more would die today |
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at Omaha beach against Germany |
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a young country boy |
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struggled out of the sea |
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up on the sand where |
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many a man |
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would never know victory |
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fought the entire time |
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up on the front line |
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it was lonely, bloody and cold |
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the only relief he'd find |
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might be some old French wine |
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the water was all dirty and froze |
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but he was luckier than some |
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a better soldier than most |
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he came back from Europe |
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but never got home |
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now he's back on the farm |
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but not out of harm |
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he drank so the pain wouldn't show |
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well he left behind |
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my brothers and I |
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we never really knew him at all |
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I barely remember him |
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smoking with a grin |
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but looking mean; standing tall |
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well I can only hope |
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that he wouldn't be ashamed |
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of the man I become |
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and the life that I made |
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and he did the hardest part |
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and lived life with all his heart |
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and I hope I don't let him down |