| She had the window and I had the aisle
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| She looked 25, but she was shaking like a child when we took off
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| I looked over and clutched in her hand
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| There was a cactus in a coffee can
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| She was holding that thing like it was all that she had
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| She smiled at me, but I could tell she was sad
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| Somewhere over Denver, I asked her her name
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| She said «Elena,» and told me she came from Santa Fe
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| She ordered a drink and a wall came down
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| She started talking and pain poured out
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| She told me a story I’ll never forget
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| She had me in tears when she looked at me and said
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| «My mama’s first love was crack
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| She made her living lying on her back
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| And she gave me away on the day that I was born»
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| She said, «The last ten years I spent tracking her down
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| It don’t seem fair that when I finally found her she was almost gone
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| We had two weeks together to laugh and to cry
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| Two weeks to say hello and goodbye
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| She gave me this cactus, said, 'It's kinda like me
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| It’ll hurt you to hold it, but it blooms every spring'»
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| She said, «I'm on my way back to New Mexico
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| Was gonna scatter these ashes where the desert winds blow
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| But I came up with a better plan
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| I’m gonna keep 'em in the bottom of this coffee can»
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| «My mama was a tortured soul
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| I still love her even though
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| Oh, she gave me away on the day I was born»
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| The plane touched down and we both got off
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| I took her hand and said, «I'm sorry for your loss»
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| She said, «Thanks for listening, and for being here
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| I’ve been wantin' to talk about for so many years»
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| Now I’ll probably never see Elena again
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| We met as strangers and parted as friends
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| As we waved goodbye, I was sure of one thing
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| There’ll be a flower on that cactus come next spring |