Józef was from Poland, worn by war, Liisa crossed from Finland’s frozen shore, 

They met right here, where smokestacks kissed the sky, she worked the line, he piled paper high. 

They taught each other words in the glowing firelight, learned their hopes and dreams, night by night.  

She taught him laughter, he listened so well, their love grew, a tender spell. 

In the paper and rain, 

Never let go, through joy and pain. 

They danced to the radio, hung laundry on the line, mended shirts by the lantern light. 

A rocking chair on the porch, folk songs by the fire, playing cards throughout the night. 

Stories from the old country, keep the fire live, walkin’ hand in hand, hearts opened wide. 

Patched the roof in the pouring rain, warm and dry, together again. 

In the paper and rain, 

Never let go, through joy and pain.  

Their children played, skippin’ stones on the riverbank, built paper forts as their voices sang, 

Helped their Father read street signs, ate too much peanut butter on rye. 

Spoke many languages, cried in only one, standing barefoot in the sun. 

Mama and Papa, always there for us, cold stormy nights warmed with love. 

In the paper and rain, 

Never let go, through joy and pain. 

Their hands helped build, what we now call home, we honor them with the gift of song. 

Their song of love shall live, ‘til the end of time, passed along, in rhythm and rhyme.    

In the paper and rain, 

Never let go, through joy and pain.