Jim Given Of LaGrange

When it's dark enough, you can hear raccoons climb and clink on the hubcap pile

Where near after midnight, out back in the barn, Jim Given of LaGrange is working under a car

With two hazel eyes and a heart so proud, his wife cut hair out of the house

He built himself on mechanic's pay for two little daughters and one on the way

And every morning at seven o'clock he would leave and return for dinner at five thirty-three

To the house where his wife waited patiently with a child in her arms and one on her knees

And after dinner he'd kiss her goodbye and go work under cars for the friends he relied

To pay back the time he so seldom shared with a wife back home he thought would always be there

Well, the TV talked on the telephone while three little girls were becoming grown

In a council of neighbors, I'll let it be said, there was someone close to Jim who saw what he had