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