We were sitting round the supper table and the buzz of the frigidaire
Was the only sound till 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 calling 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 them 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 getting 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 passing on
The book of John
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