It´s knowin' that your door is always
open And your path is free to walk, uh hm That makes me tend to keep my
sleeping bag Rolled up and stashed behind your couch. And it´s knowin' I´m
not shackled by forgotten words and bonds And the ink stains that have dried
upon some line, That keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my
mem'ry, That keeps you ever gentle on my mind
It´s not clingin' to
the rocks and ivy Planted on their columns now that bind me, Or somethin'
that somebody said Because they thought we fit together walkin´ It´s just
knowing that the world will not be cursin' or forgivin' When I walk along
some railroad track and find That you´re moving on the backroads by the
rivers of my mem'ry And for hours you´re just gentle on my mind
Though
the wheat fields and the clothes lines And the junkyards and the highways
come between us And some other woman's cryin´ to her mother ´cause she
turned and I was gone, I still might run in silence, tears of joy might stain
my face, And the summer sun might burn me ´til I´m blind, But not to where
I cannot see you walkin' in the backroads By the rivers flowing gentle on my
mind.
I dip my cup of soup back from a Gurglin´ cracklin´ cauldron in
some train yard, My beard a roughning coal pile And a dirty hat pulled
low across my face. Through cupped hands around a tin can I pretend to
hold you to my breast and find, uh hmm That you´re waving from the backroads
by the rivers of my mem'ry, Ever smilin', ever gentle on my mind.