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Use A− / A+ para ajustar a leituraBook Of John
We were sittin' round the supper tableAnd the buzz of the frigidaireWas the only sound 'til momma laid downA book she found upstairsIt was covered in dust in the back of the closetGoodwill box we almost tossed it outWe could have lost all those memoriesThere was a picture of mama in the pouring rainTicket stubs to a braves gameSilver star and a baggage claim from hanoi, vietnamThere was a picture of him callin' on grandpaLeather skin from a baseballWe laughed and cried, told stories all night longFrom the book of johnNow the pot of coffee's almost goneAs we turn another pageWe're climbing on him like a jungle jimwatching his hair turn grayAll the polaroids are just remindersYou can't hold life in a three ring binderWe flipped on through 'em anywayThere's a picture at his sister taken in julyOn the steps of the church pulling out his tieHair's still wet from gettin' baptizedThe brand new blue suit onAn old set of keys to his chevroletA crumpled up receipt for a wedding ringWe watched ourselves grow up there in his armsIn the book of johnThat sun came up, we were wide awakeHead to toe in black and grayLong black lincoln waiting down the driveHe was father, son, husband and friendI still flip through it every now and thenWhen I need just a few words of adviceIt's almost like he's not really goneAnd I know one day I'll be passin' onThe book of john
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