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It's knowing that your door is always open |
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And your path is free to walk |
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That makes me know that I can leave |
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My sleeping bag behind your couch |
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It's knowing I'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds |
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And your ink stains that have dried upon some line |
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Keeps you on the back roads by the rivers of my memory |
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It keeps you ever gentle on my mind |
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It's not clinging to some rocks and ivy |
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Planted on some column now that binds me |
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No, it don't or something that somebody said |
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Because they thought we fit together walking |
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We didn't, baby |
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It's knowing that the world will not be cursing or forgiving |
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When they turn around and find that you're moving |
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On the back roads, you're still on my memory |
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You're ever gentle on my mind |
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Yes, you are, baby |
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Gentle on my mind, yeah |
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Gentle on my mind, yeah |
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Gentle on my mind, yeah |
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... |