We were sittin' round the supper table and the buzz of the frigidaire Was the only sound 'til momma laid down, a book she found upstairs It was covered in dust in the back of the closet, Goodwill box we almost tossed it out We could have lost all those memories
There was a picture of mama in the pouring rain Ticket stubs to a Braves game Silver star and a baggage claim from Hanoi, Vietnam There was a picture of him callin' on grandpa Leather skin from a baseball We laughed and cried, told stories all night long From the book of John
Now the pot of coffee's almost gone, as we turn another page We're climbing on him like a Jungle Jim, watching his hair turn gray All the Polaroids are just reminders, You can't hold life in a three ring binder We flipped on through 'em anyway
There's a picture at his sister taken in July On the steps of the church pulling out his tie Hair's still wet from gettin' baptized, the brand new blue suit on An old set of keys to his Chevrolet A crumpled up receipt for a wedding ring We watched ourselves grow up there in his arms In the book of John
That sun came up, we were wide awake Head to toe in black and gray Long black Lincoln waiting down the drive He was father, son, husband and friend I still flip through it every now and then When I need just a few words of advice It's almost like he's not really gone And I know one day I'll be passin' on The book of JohnTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
