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One weekend Ray was a bit at loose ends |
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Getting under foot in Ella's kitchen again |
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She shooed him out, said |
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'It's such a nice day, perhaps there's some yard work 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, gotta 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' or 'happy birthday' |
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'Here's lookin at you kid', forever, Ray, forever, Ray |
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Pleased with his plan, his idea grew 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 ground hog |
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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 so it would not blow away |
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A note that said 'to my sweetheart' or 'happy birthday' |
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'Here's lookin at you kid', forever, Ray, forever, Ray |
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Like autumn to winter, age shuffles in |
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And they hired a boy from next to rake and ? |
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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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Now every morning she places a note on the tray |
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But without the small stone letting blow a way |
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Down the street, on the air, to land where they may |
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Saying, 'I'll be your sweetheart', forever Ray, forever, Ray |
