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It's knowin' that your door is always open |
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And your path is free to walk |
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That makes me tend to leave my sleepin' bag |
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Rolled up and stashed behind your couch |
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And it's knowin' I'm not shackled |
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By forgotten words and bonds |
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And the ink stains that have dried upon some line |
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That keeps you in the back roads |
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By the rivers of my memory |
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That keeps you ever gentle on my mind |
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It's not clingin' to the rocks and ivy |
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And for hours you're just gentle on my mind |
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Or something that somebody said |
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because They thought we fit together walkin' |
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It's just knowing that the world |
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Will not be cursing or forgiving |
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When I walk along some railroad track and find |
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That you're movin' on the back roads |
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By the rivers of my memory |
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Planted on their columns now that bind me |
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Though the wheat fields and the clothes lines |
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And the junkyards and the highways come between us |
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And some other woman's cryin' to her mother |
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'cause she turned and I was gone |
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I still might run in silence |
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Tears of joy might stain my face |
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But not to where I cannot see You |
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walkin' on the back roads |
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By the rivers flowin' gentle on my mind |
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by dip my cup of soup back from a gurglin' cracklin' cauldron |
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And the summer sun might burn me till I'm blind |
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In some train yard |
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My beard a rustlin' coal pile |
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And a dirty hat pulled low across my face |
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Through cupped hands 'round a tin can |
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I pretend to hold you to my breast and find |
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That you're waitin' from the back roads |
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By the rivers of my memory |
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Ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind |
