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On the wall of our home there hangs a picture,
Of a man who is very dear to me;
Each time I gaze upon his face, there's so much I recall,
The memories of my father live in a picture on our wall.
He stands alone on his fishing boat heading out to sea,
Pride in being a fisherman is there for all to see;
The rushing wind , the foam-capped waves, he dearly loved it all,
The memory of my father lives in a picture on our wall.
My father loved the outdoor life and the sound of nature's call,
Like fishing in the summertime or hunting in the fall;
Hard work was his way of life, oft' times he'd lend a hand,
But he made sure he had the time for good music and old friends.
Then one night the angels came and took him up on high,
They left no word of warning, no chance to say good-bye;
He left this world in the place that he loved most of all,
The memory of my father lives in the picture on our wall.
He stands alone on his fishing boat, heading out to sea,
Pride in being a fisherman is there for all to see;
The rushing wind, the foam-capped waves, he dearly loved it all,
The memory of my father lives in a picture on our wall.
