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It's knowin' that your door is always open |
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And you path is free to walk |
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That makes me tend to keep my sleeping bag rolled up |
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And stashed behind your couch |
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It's knowin' I'm not shackled |
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By forgotten words and bonds |
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And the heat stains that have dried up on some lovin' |
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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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It keeps you ever gentle on my mind |
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It's not clinging to the rocks and ivy |
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Planted on their columns mellowed by me |
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Or something that somebody said |
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Because they thought we'd fit together walking |
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It's just knowing that the world will not be cursin' |
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Or forgiving when I walk along some railroad track and find |
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That you're moving on the back roads |
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By the rivers of my memory and for hours |
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You're just gentle on my mind |
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Though the wheat fields and the clothes lines |
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And the junk yards 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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Till' the join might stain my face |
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And the summer sun might burn me 'till I'm blind |
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But not to where I cannot see you |
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Walking in the back roads |
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By the rivers flowing gently on my mind |
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I dip my cup of soup from a gurgling, |
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cracking cauldron in some train yard |
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I'm barely runnin' cold how |
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Have a dirty hat pulled low across my face |
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Who cupped hands around the tin cans |
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I pretend to hold you to my breast and find |
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That you're wavin' from the back roads |
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By the rivers of my memory |
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Ever smiling never changes on my mind |
