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 John