Created
January 18, 2016 05:37
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It's knowing that your door is always open | |
And your path is free to walk | |
That makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag | |
Rolled up and stashed behind your couch | |
And it's knowing I'm not shackled | |
By forgotten words and bonds | |
And the ink stains that are dried upon some line | |
That keeps you in the backroads | |
By the rivers of my memory | |
That 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 fit together walking | |
It's just knowing that the world will not be cursing | |
Or forgiving when I walk along some railroad track and find | |
That you're moving on the backroads | |
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 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' on the backroads | |
By the rivers flowing gentle on my mind | |
I dip my cup of soup back from a gurglin' | |
Cracklin' caldron in some train yard | |
My beard a roughening coal pile, | |
And a dirty hat pulled low across my face | |
Through cupped hands 'round the tin can | |
I pretend to hold you to my breast and find | |
That you're waiting from the backroads | |
By the rivers of my memories | |
Ever smilin' ever gentle on my mind |
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