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Alone in the world, was poor little Anne |
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As sweet a young child as you'd find |
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Her parents had gone, to their final reward |
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Leavin' their baby behind. |
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Did ya hear this poor little child |
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Was only nine years of age |
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When mother and dad went away |
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Still she bravely worked |
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At the one thing she knew |
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To earn her few pennies a day |
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She made artificial flowers |
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Artificial flowers |
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Flowers for ladies of fashion to wear |
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She made artificial flowers |
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You know, those artificial flowers |
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Fashioned from Annie's despair |
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With paper and shears |
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With some wire and wax |
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She made up each tulip and mum |
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As snowflakes drifted |
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Into her tenement room |
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Her baby little fingers grew numb |
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From makin' artificial flowers |
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Those artificial flowers |
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Flowers for ladies of high fashion to wear |
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She made artificial flowers |
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Artificial flowers |
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Made from Annie's despair |
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They found little Annie |
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All covered with ice |
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Still clutchin' her poor frozen shears |
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Amidst all the blossoms |
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She had fashioned by hand |
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And watered with all her young tears |
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There must be a Heaven |
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Where little Annie can play |
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In Heavenly gardens and bowers |
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And instead of a halo |
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She'll wear 'round her head |
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A garland of genuine flowers |
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No more artificial flowers |
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Throw away those artificial flowers |
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Flowers for ladies of society to wear |
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Throw away those artificial flowers |
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Those dumb-dumb flowers |
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Fashioned from Annie's |
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Fashioned from Annie's despair |
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Give her the real thing |
